


Stained Glass

by Fluffy_Stuff



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Awkward Sexual Situations, Body Worship, Bottom Patrick Stump, Brendon Urie attempts to roofie Patrick, Cuddling & Snuggling, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Except they're really fucking stupid, Feelings, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Jealous!Pete, Lots of bars, M/M, Minor Gabe Saporta/Pete Wentz, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Past Suicide Attempt, Protective!pete, Ryan Ross helps, Sex Toys, Slow Burn, Smut, There's going to be a lot of smut in this guys, Top Pete Wentz, virgin!patrick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 63,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22357723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffy_Stuff/pseuds/Fluffy_Stuff
Summary: Patrick has always dreamed that when he has sex for the first time, it'll be with someone he loves. The only problem is that thirty is staring him in the face and he still hasn't found the right one—or really anyone at all.One night at a party, his best friend Pete's drunken joke makes Patrick rethink his decision to wait. With his pride on the line and newfound determination in his heart, Patrick sets out to find a half-way decent guy to take his v-card ASAP. And he might just find someone who seems like a good choice. But was the right guy standing in front of him all along? Will Patrick figure it out in time?
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Original Male Character(s), Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 75
Kudos: 80





	1. The Party

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first foray into the FOB fandom. I haven't written anything aside from boring work stuff in at least a year, and you all seem like pretty cool folks, so I hope you'll bear with me while I get back into my groove. Feedback is welcome, especially if I got something wrong.
> 
> I don't write in order, so the middle of the fic is pretty much written, and some of the end is...but the next chapter isn't.
> 
> Please keep in mind that these characters are drunk in the first part of this (and I kind of hate that entire scene, but it was necessary for the plot). They're supposed to act and talk like idiots; I went back and edited to make sure of it ;) What happens the next morning is much truer to the Pete-Patrick dynamic I'm creating.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> **Disclaimer**  
> I own nothing, know nothing, and mean no harm—I just need something to do with my free time so I don't go stir crazy. If your name is tagged in this, please turn back now.

It was all Pete’s fault, like everything in Patrick’s life. All Patrick had wanted was a quiet night in after a rough week at work, but no. Patrick’s friends had dragged him out against his will with promises of a good time…and thrown him straight into his personal hell—a bougie party in a stranger’s apartment, complete with horrible indie music and food he wouldn’t eat if he were dying. The one time he’d ventured off to find the bathroom, he’d been cornered by a hipster trying to recruit him for some protest against genetically modified corn. Like he didn't have enough to worry about. Thankfully, Andy had saved him by spilling a plate of vegan cheese on the guy.

A half hour later, Patrick sat sulking on the unreasonably low modern couch, wedged between the arm and his best friend, roommate, and crush all rolled into one: Pete. He quietly nursed his fourth obnoxiously expensive beer of the night, plotting escape routes. 

To make matters worse, Pete’s warm hand rested casually on his thigh, the touch searing through Patrick's jeans and blocking out all other thoughts. Pete was normally awful at respecting personal boundaries, but Patrick wasn’t equipped to handle this level of physicality with so much alcohol in his system.

Between the way his heart fluttered at Pete’s laugh, the heat that simmered low in his abdomen at the sight of Pete fresh from the shower with droplets of water glistening on his tanned skin, and the frigid jealousy that pierced his heart when someone else moaned Pete’s name late at night, their friendship was a roller coaster headed toward a brick wall. Patrick was counting down the seconds until the collision, when he'd have to make a gutwrenching choice: his heart or his best friend? He wasn't sure if it was that thought or the amount of booze in his stomach that was building his nausea to an intolerable level.

So on top of everything he hated about this party, having to watch Pete’s fingers dig into his leg, knowing that it didn’t mean half as much to him as it did to Patrick, the redhead had had just about enough of tonight. "Pete," he said, nudging the older man with his elbow.

Pete turned around to face Patrick, the smile quickly dropping from his face as he picked up on Patrick’s misery. Pete leaned in closer, his hand shifting so high on Patrick's thigh that Patrick thought he might explode with desire. “You doing okay, Pattycakes?" Pete asked. "You look unhappy or sick or something.”

Patrick squirmed slightly, willing the blood that had redirected to his dick to find somewhere else to go. “I just…this isn’t my scene,” Patrick mumbled.

Pete wrapped an arm around his shoulder and leaned into his side. His breath reeked like alcohol and Patrick did his best not to recoil. “You wanna leave, don't you, Lunchbox?" Pete thought for a moment, but his lack of enthusiasm didn't breed any confidence in Patrick. "I guess I won’t die if I don’t get any tonight," he said eventually, his tone more appropriate for a kid who'd dropped his ice cream than a thirty-something looking to get laid.

“I'll make a deal with you," Patrick said, exasperated. "We don’t have to go right now." He looked at his watch; it was already 12:30. “But can we leave by like one, if you don’t find someone?”

“Challenge accepted.” Pete grinned and gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek that made Patrick blush.

In seconds, Pete was scoping out the room for a hookup. Patrick watched as he locked eyes with a blonde girl in a tight skirt. He flashed her a smile that Patrick would walk over hot coals to have Pete direct at him. It looked like the girl felt pretty similarly, since she blew Pete a kiss. So much for getting out of here anytime soon. They’d probably be fucking in the bathroom in ten minutes and Patrick would end up dragging a half-conscious Pete into a cab at 3 a.m. Again. 

Just as Pete stood up to claim his prize, Joe came bounding over, shoving into Pete, who collapsed onto the couch again. Pete’s drink toppled to the floor, the remnants spilling all over him and Patrick on the way down.

“Asshole,” Pete spat, wiping at his clothes. “Get me a fucking towel, you prick.”

“Relax,” Joe said, plopping onto the couch on Pete’s other side. He shoved napkins at Pete, who started dabbing at Patrick’s pants, even though his own were in far worse shape. Patrick supposed he was being buttered up so Pete could win extra time here. Or Pete was so drunk that he mistook Patrick's legs for his own. “It was almost empty anyway, you lush,” Joe pointed out.

“Good thing it was, because it's supposed to be a fucking _drink_ , not a cologne! Go get me another one,” Pete demanded.

Patrick tuned out. He looked up to see that the girl Pete had been eyeing was now making out with another guy against the wall. Maybe Pete would give up and they could go home. He was just about to suggest it when he was cut off by a fervent Joe.

“Dude, we can’t leave yet,” Joe insisted. “This chick I ran into by the bathroom said she’d blow me later. Well…once the guy she’s with passes out.”

“Yeah, right. Like a girl who already has another guy lined up would want to blow you,” Pete joked, his smile wide as Joe punched him in the arm playfully. 

"Fuck you, man. It's true," Joe said adamantly. He pointed to a girl in a short black dress with crimson lips.

Pete snorted. “In your dreams, Trohman. I believe that girl would blow you like I believe our innocent little Patrick's getting his cherry popped tonight. Or any time this decade, honestly.” Pete reached over to pat a mortified Patrick on the shoulder, cackling with laughter. Pete, in his drunken state, hadn’t exactly been quiet, so a few people nearby were sneaking looks at Patrick and snickering.

The blood drained from Patrick’s face; he wanted to run. Preferably to somewhere far away from Chicago. Sure, they were all a little drunk, but they ( _especially Pete_ ) knew that Patrick’s inexperience was a sensitive subject for him, and absolutely not something he wanted advertised at a party.

His friends had moved on from the joke, but a glance around the room showed a few people were still smirking at him and whispering. A few pairs of eyes were watching him with a predatory stare, like he was something to conquer. The air in the room felt too thick. Patrick needed out of this fucking stupid party and away from his stupid sex-crazed friends. He didn’t want to make things even more awkward by storming out and going home alone, so his options were few. Standing on shaky legs, he spared one wounded glance at Pete before fleeing to the balcony.

***

Pete was taking longer than Patrick expected and the chilly fall air was starting to seep into Patrick's bones. Gazing down at the city from his perch on the twenty-seventh floor, everything looked so insignificant. Each little speck of a person, a car, was just as meaningless and alien to him as every star he saw above him. Patrick felt like even less than any of those little specks right now. He didn’t belong here, wasn’t good enough. Hell, even his best fucking friend was talking about him like he was a loser. What was it they said about drunk words being sober thoughts?

A decade. A _fucking decade_ of longing and hoping and hiding his feelings from his best friend and _this_ was what he got? All those years Patrick had dreamed of the day that maybe he and Pete would be more than friends, that they'd share Patrick's first time together...and Pete had been laughing about Patrick's inexperience behind his back. The cruel irony was poetic; maybe he should tell Pete so he could make it the theme for his next publication. Then at least one of them would get something out of Patrick's torment.

Patrick felt so painfully naive. He turned to the brick wall next to him, pressing his forehead against it, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the tears forming. He drew back his foot and kicked. Hard. The wall seemed unexpectedly solid to his inebriated brain, and pain shot through his foot like a hot poker. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered under his breath. The tears had just begun to spill from his eyes when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Hey, Pattycakes,” said an unsteady voice near his ear. “Let’s get you to a chair or something before you hurt yourself more.” The hand guided Patrick to a table set near the balcony door, supporting his weight on his injured side. Given that his guide had had a lot to drink, their journey was slow and slightly uncoordinated. Patrick finally made it to the chair, plopping down into it gratefully. The music was louder here, despite the thick glass, and he could feel the beat flow up through the chair and into his body.

“Better?” Pete asked, hovering nervously in front of him.

Patrick shook his head. “You made fun of me. In front of everyone,” Patrick accused. “Why did you do that?”

Pete rubbed his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. “I meant the foot, but fine, we’ll go right for the elephant in the room.”

Patrick huffed haughtily. “My foot will survive. It’s your own life you should be worried about.” He narrowed his eyes at Pete.

“Patrick, are you—are you crying?" Patrick murmured something about his foot hurting, but Pete clearly didn't buy it. He dropped to his knees next to Patrick, gripping the arm of the chair so he didn’t fall over. He reached out one hand to touch Patrick's cheek, trying to wipe away his tears and almost poking Patrick's eye out instead. “I'm so sorry, Trick. I...I shouldn’t have said that about you. Just kind of slipped out. We’re all drinking, y’know? And sometimes I'm just an asshole and I say stuff without thinking. I didn't mean to hurt you.” His words were slightly slurred and Patrick knew he should’ve gone easy on him, but his broken heart felt too betrayed to care. By now it should be engrained in Pete's mind that Patrick was someone he cared about and didn't want to hurt. He shouldn't even have to think about it.

“I know all of that, but you're missing the point, Pete. You think my life choices are a party joke, and I’m your punchline. I mean Joe and Andy didn’t even look shocked. Do you guys all sit around and laugh about me when I’m not there?” Patrick’s voice was starting to quiver. “Poor, pathetic Patrick, who’s never going to touch a dick besides his own.”

Pete’s face was frozen in shock. “What? No, Patrick, we love you." He grabbed for Patrick’s hand and Patrick didn't pull away. “Of course we make jokes about each other. Doesn’t mean we’re any less friends. I support you, Joe and Andy support you, and so do…other people I can’t remember right now. Dude, did you even hear what I said about Joe?” Pete’s eyes looked slightly unfocused and Patrick had to turn away before he let himself feel guilty for having this fight right now.

Pete apparently sensed something was off still, so he continued. “I didn’t say it to hurt you. I’m so sorry.” Pete’s hand squeezed Patrick’s. “Trick, you’re my best friend. I don’t want us to be mad at each other. Can we forget about this? Or maybe you can go say something awful about me to make us even?” he offered.

Patrick shook his head. “You want me to forgive you? Just be fucking honest with me, Pete.”

“About what? What do you mean?” Pete asked, confused.

“Do you think I’m a loser because I’ve never had sex?”

Pete’s eyes widened and he stayed silent for a few beats, like he couldn't quite get his thoughts straight. "I don't—you're not a loser, Patrick. I know what I said didn't sound good, but you're the coolest person I know. And that doesn't have fucking anything to do with sex. I—you're my Patrick. Is any of this making sense?” Pete looked up at him helplessly. Patrick shrugged. He wasn't sober enough to judge anyone's logic or speaking skills at the moment.

Pete sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair and knotting his fingers there. “I—I wish you wouldn’t talk about yourself like that. You’re so—I mean you—” Pete stuttered. Patrick wasn’t sure if Pete was searching for words or trying to hold words back. Pete shook his head. “This isn’t coming out right. Can we please talk about this some other time? I care about you, I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

As much as Patrick really wanted to hear what drunk Pete was going to say about him, he had to have some mercy. “Fine, but only if we go home like right now. My foot is fucking killing me, man.”

That earned a toothy smile from Pete as he stood again, offering his arm to Patrick for support. The pair made their way back inside together.

Pete gestured at Joe and Andy that they were leaving, but the other guys were too caught up in a couple of girls they’d found, so they waved Pete off. Within seconds, Pete was aiding a hobbling Patrick out the door and into the elevator.

“Guess you’re not getting laid tonight either,” Patrick joked as the doors dinged open, revealing the pretentious main lobby. “Seems like a fitting punishment.” Patrick was starting to regret fighting with Pete and had been hoping to create some banter to ease the tension, but a terse "yeah" was the only response Pete offered as he dragged Patrick outside to wait for their Uber.

Their ride home was as close to silent as possible without actually being silent. Patrick was half asleep by the time Pete shut the front door of their apartment behind them. The half of him that wasn’t asleep was getting really pissy at their slow progress. Patrick felt like he was swimming through molasses toward a target a mile away. The pain in his foot had become more of a dull throb now, but he still wouldn’t put his full weight on it in case it flared up again. “Jesus, Pete, you’re no help at all,” Patrick grumbled as Pete very ineffectively lugged him past the kitchen. “I thought you were supposed to be good at getting people into bed. Guess you’re all talk.”

“Trick, stop being such a bitch. I’m trying.” He was practically dragging Patrick across the living area now, his bedroom a mere ten feet away. Patrick had all but stopped supporting his own weight at this point, a last-ditch effort to silently punish his best friend. _Pete started this. He should have to deal with the consequences_ , he told himself.

Pete finally flung Patrick’s bedroom door open, and with one final burst of energy, deposited Patrick onto his bed. “There. Made it in once piece,” Pete grunted, his chest heaving. Patrick wished Pete was out of breath for a more x-rated reason. God, why did he have to be in love with this absolute idiot, who was actually letting Patrick torment him in his supreme moodiness over a stupid slip of the tongue? 

Pete stood there staring at Patrick's legs as they dangled lifelessly off the bed. “S-stop being so fucking lazy," Pete accused, slurring his words slightly. "I had way more than you and I just fucking carried your ass."

Pete was on thin ice tonight where Patrick was concerned, and each complaint Pete made just brought him closer to a frigid death. But for all of Pete's snarkiness, he was still here, waiting for Patrick's next directive. And honestly? Seeing Pete so easily influenced by him, bending to his needs and whims was beyond enticing. Pete probably wouldn’t remember much of this tomorrow, so Patrick was going to milk Pete’s guilt for all it was worth. “You could at least help undress me,” Patrick said. Pete stared at him. “You want me to forgive you? Get me some fucking pajamas so I don’t have to walk on the fucking foot I probably broke because I was pissed at you.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Lunchbox.” Nonetheless, Pete moved to the dresser, pulled open the drawer where Patrick kept his pajamas, and picked out a set he knew Patrick loved. Patrick was impressed that Pete remembered on the first try. They had been rooming together for a few years now, though, so maybe he’d just spent a lot of time snooping through Patrick’s stuff. “Arms up,” Pete instructed, throwing the pajamas on the bed.

Patrick obeyed, smirking as Pete pulled his shirt off. Patrick was not in a state to feel shame right now, so he didn’t cover himself up like he normally would. He saw the change in Pete’s eyes as his pale skin was revealed. Instead of replacing his shirt, Pete pushed Patrick back down onto the bed, his gaze roving over the paler man’s body appreciatively.

Patrick’s heart pounded in his chest beneath where Pete’s palm rested, gravitating toward Pete's touch, like the moon to the earth. “Well?” Patrick asked, trying to sound playful and confident and in control when really his mind was going haywire.

Suddenly, Pete was lifting Patrick’s hips to pull off his jeans. If he’d been upright, he would’ve fainted at the sight of Pete standing between his bare thighs, a vision straight out of Patrick’s wet dreams. Pete manipulated Patrick’s legs with a moderate amount of difficulty to get them out of his jeans without sacrificing the closeness of their bodies.

In a flash, Patrick was lying back on his bed in just his boxers, relishing the roughness of Pete's jeans against his bare thighs. Patrick needed _more_. Right now. Pete’s hot breath against his neck sent pulses of pleasure straight below Patrick’s waist. Pete’s t-shirt covered chest created delicious friction against Patrick’s nipples as their bodies pressed closer. Patrick shuddered, tangling a hand in Pete’s hair, wondering where this was going, where Pete's head was at right now.

This wasn’t completely uncharted territory for them—just something that had happened a few scattered times over the years after long nights of partying. There were always two commonalities between these moments: it never went beyond light touching and kissing, and it never happened when they were sober. So far, at least one of those things was true again tonight.

Pete sucked at a spot on Patrick’s neck and the redhead let out a groan. For Patrick, there was no sensation on earth that compared to the ecstasy of Pete’s touch. He could feel blood traveling to the worst possible area on his body and he prayed to every omnipotent being he could think of that Pete didn’t notice.

“You've got the prettiest skin, Pattycakes,” Pete murmured, running a hand across Patrick’s chest, stopping to thumb at his hardening nipples, before continuing down his arm, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his caress. “Wanna touch you all over, maybe leave some marks,” Pete rambled, letting his hands roam Patrick’s body.

He knew Pete would be horrified if he remembered this in the morning, but he couldn’t help enjoying the one time Pete’s façade slipped. When Pete’s hand found its way back to one of Patrick’s nipples, teasing and tugging it, the younger man let out a sound of pure ecstasy. He _wanted_ Pete. More than he’d wanted almost anything in his adult life. Pete's answer was to grind his hips down against Patrick's until the smaller man let out a high-pitched whine and arched his back.

“So eager. Better find someone to fuck you 'fore I have to do it myself,” he murmured, kissing his way across Patrick’s chest. “Wanna spread you out on my bed, hear all the beautiful noises you make.” His hand gripped Patrick’s hip and squeezed, sucking at the sensitive skin just under Patrick's jaw.

Patrick's heart was beating fast and heavy, rising to a crescendo. _Pete wants me_ , he thought. _He's finally going to say he wants me back._ Patrick's arms came up to tangle in Pete's hair, pulling him closer. He kissed Pete's temple because it was all he could reach. Pete's skin was hot and smooth and perfect under his lips.

Pete tilted his mouth toward Patrick's ear once more. Patrick's heart soared, his feelings lined up and battering against the gates he'd built to hold them in, ready and begging to be released at long last. "Patrick," Pete whispered, the feel of his breath making Patrick's stomach perform acrobatics. "Wanna fuck you. Please. Doesn't have to be a thing. Just want a taste, just one night."

Something snapped in Patrick, like he'd woken from a trance. The three words he held poised and ready died on his lips. He shoved at Pete’s chest, sending the other man stumbling backward. “I’m not a one-night stand, Pete,” Patrick said indignantly, sitting up. Having Pete tease him like this after what he’d said tonight was just cruel, and he wasn’t going to take it. "I'm not a charity case, either. You can leave now. Thanks for your help.”

Pete’s words replayed in his head, the phrases about the “beautiful noises” he’d make for Pete and the heartbreaking idea of giving himself to the man he loved for “just one night” weighing heavily on him. Pete thought Patrick would be so desperate to get laid that he could sweet talk him into hooking up. And the way he'd said it was so casual, like it should be easy for Patrick to sacrifice that golden moment of intimacy and love he'd yearned for for almost two decades at the altar of his drunken best friend's horniness. Why did Pete think he deserved that from him, that precious piece of Patrick's heart that he's never given to anyone? What gave him the right to even ask?

On the inside, Patrick cradled his wounded heart where Pete's words had pierced it; on the outside, his indignant anger had a stunned Pete backing away, a mixture of shock, confusion, and hurt plain on his face. Patrick couldn't care less right now. He glared at Pere once more for good measure before reaching for the pajamas. He started putting them on haphazardly, groaning in frustration when he couldn’t get his legs in the right holes. 

Pete crept closer, like he wanted to help, but Patrick glared at him with enough ferocity that he stopped in his tracks. “Damn it, I–I should go before I fuck anything else up. I’m sorry, Trick." 

Patrick did his best to ignore the twinge of pain in his best friend's voice, instead occupying himself with his battle against his pajama pants again, so bemused by them that he only had a millisecond's notice before Pete was pressing a quick, sloppy kiss to his cheek. Well, he’d aimed for Patrick’s cheek, but his lips ended up closer to the corner of his eye. Before Patrick could react, Pete was gone from the room, leaving Patrick to struggle with his pajamas alone.

Minutes later, Patrick found himself under the covers, mind wandering not to the waning pain in his foot or to the comments Pete had made, but to the injured look in Pete’s eyes as he’d left. The burning sting of tears in his eyes would've kept him up any other night, but his inebriated state finally became his saving grace. He didn’t have long to dwell on matters of the heart before the tantalizing siren called sleep lured him in.

***

The next morning found Patrick sprawled across his bed with a wicked headache and a tightness in his chest. As the details from the night before trickled into his brain, his sense of dread grew. Pete. Pete making fun of him at the party. Pete hovering over him, caressing his skin. The anguished look on Pete’s face as he’d left Patrick’s room last night. Patrick's head spun.

He craned his neck toward his alarm clock, willing his eyes to focus on the floating red digits. It was already eleven, meaning Pete was probably awake. Patrick sat up, rubbing at his throbbing temples. He was a one-beer kind of guy. His body was not equipped to deal with a hangover. Goddamn Pete, dragging him out against his will, shoving bottle after bottle into his hand. And why had Patrick just let him? He'd have to add that to his growing list of questions about last night. 

He rolled over to the side of the bed and gingerly put his weight on his foot, bracing for a shooting pain. To his surprise, it didn’t come; there was only a dull soreness in its place. Apparently, somebody upstairs was on his side today. He shrugged his shoulders before standing and exiting the room. 

Just as he'd suspected, he found Pete hovering anxiously near the kitchen table, looking haggard in a hoodie and sweatpants. “Hi," Pete murmured, his tone as neutral as Switzerland. Patrick couldn't tell if Pete was worried because he remembered everything from last night, or because he didn't. 

When Pete moved aside, Patrick saw a rather large coffee cup and a paper bag in his spot at the table. Fuck, Patrick was starting to wish he'd taken a few minutes to prepare himself for this moment, because Pete clearly had. “Hi. What’s this?”

Pete was fidgeting, avoiding making eye contact with Patrick too long. "Uh, I’m awful in the kitchen, so I went out and got your favorite from Starbucks. I hope that’s okay." Patrick felt his friend's eyes settle on him as he sat down and took the first sip from his cup. The delicious warm liquid slid down his throat easily, washing away the bad taste in his mouth and replacing it with an energized freshness. It was exactly what he’d needed this morning. How did Pete know him so well?

“Thank you,” Patrick said, finally remembering his manners. “And you got it just right.”

Pete gave a small smile as he wandered around the kitchen. “How’s the foot?”

 _Still in safe territory, but getting warmer_ , Patrick thought. “Um, I can walk, but it’s a little sore. Lucky I didn’t break anything, honestly,” Patrick mumbled. He chugged the coffee as fast as he could without burning his mouth.

“Next time you’re mad at me, just kick me instead. It’ll hurt less,” Pete laughed. “Plus, I probably deserve it anyway.”

“Deal,” Patrick said, chuckling lightly. This was going better than he expected. Maybe he was lucky and Pete’s memory from last night was just clear enough for him to know they’d fought, but too hazy to remember say...the hot and heavy goings-on in his bedroom.

Pete stood at the counter now, his knuckles white from his grip on the smooth, rocky surface. “Um, listen. About last night—”

“Which part?”

Pete froze, eyes wide. “Exactly how much did I fuck up?”

“Let’s start with the party, where you made a joke out of my virginity in front of tons of people. Very loudly, I might add," Patrick said nonchalantly, taking his pastry out of the bag. Damn, Pete had pulled out the big guns today. Patrick knew Pete's checks from the publisher were getting small now that he hadn't put out a new collection in almost two years. He probably couldn’t afford to splurge on a fancy Starbucks breakfast, but he’d done it anyway to make it up to Patrick. Each bite of flaky goodness filled Patrick with more guilt. He made a note to talk to Pete about their rent agreement later. 

Pete sighed heavily. “Look, I honestly don’t remember much. Just that stupid shit I said and some bits and pieces from the balcony, but I just woke up with this feeling that I fucked up. I was kind of hoping you'd fill me in...”

Oh, great. Patrick was _really_ looking forward to explaining to Pete how he'd undressed Patrick and practically begged him for sex. “Um, well, basically, I just remember bitching at you and you begging me to forgive you.”

“So basically same as when we're sober,” Pete said with a nervous laugh.

And now Pete was watching him expectantly, like he wanted Patrick to elaborate. Frankly, removing his own arm with a hacksaw would have been more tempting than the discussion they were about to have, but he felt Pete's anxiety like a second heart beating alongside his own. Pete needed him to take the first leap, guide him, make things okay again. 

"Well, I get that you were drunk. We all were, and I know you didn't really mean to say it. The thing that's still bothering me, though, was the _way_ you said it," he explained. "You were so casual about it, like it was a joke you tell all the time. So, I'm going to ask you now that you're sober: Pete, do you guys like...gossip about my inexperience when I'm not there?” He held his breath as he watched Pete for a reaction.

Pete's brow creased in distress. “What? Of course not! We're your friends, Patrick. _I'm_ your friend. And I’m horrified that I said something like that about you. Really, Trick, I am,” he said sincerely. He clutched at the counter again, his grip looking painful. Patrick hated seeing the evidence of Pete's anxiety. He wanted to cross the space between them and pull Pete close, whisper to him that everything would be okay, but he forced himself to stay seated, listening to Pete's apology.

"If you don't ever talk about it, I don't get why _that's_ what your brain came up with when you were drunk," Patrick pressed. He didn't really want to push much further, but he knew that Pete would feel more settled if he had to work for Patrick's apology. It was just another weird "Pete thing" that he'd learned over the years.

Pete took the bait. "I was just trying to make fun of Joe, and...I don't know how, but I ended up dragging you into it. I don't get why. Maybe because you were right there? Drunk people don't want to put out a lot of brainpower; they just go with what's easy. I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying or how many people were there to hear it. I wish I had a better explanation, but I don't." Pete shrugged helplessly. "I can't change what I said or did last night," Pete continued solemnly, "but I want to make sure you know how important you are to me. I don't want you to have any doubts that I have your back and I'm on your side."

Patrick was finding it increasingly difficult to stay in his chair, seeing the discomfort and frustration and guilt in Pete's eyes. Pete was beating himself up over this. Patrick should be stepping in, reassuring Pete and steering him off the ledge, but Pete was rambling now. "I love you beyond all reason, and it's killing me that I made you feel bad about yourself," Pete said passionately. "That's the kind of thing I kick other people's asses over and now I fucking did it myself! What am I supposed to do?" Pete’s eyes looked haunted as they searched Patrick's face for an answer.

Patrick held his gaze, feeling trapped. He didn't want Pete to suffer, but there were some things that had happened the previous night that Patrick needed to make peace with, if he and Pete were going to be "normal" again. He couldn't ask all the questions that burned in his heart, but he could ask one, if he was careful.

Pete seemed to understand in that best-friend-ESP kind of way. He stared at his feet, looking dismayed. “I can tell you’re still upset with me, and I don't blame you at all. But, um...I don't remember much of the aftermath,” he said sheepishly. “So if I did something else to make it worse…just know that I’m so fucking sorry, Patrick. I wasn’t in my mind at all. And I promise I won’t drink that much in front of you again.”

Patrick took another sip of his coffee. He needed strength to get through this conversation. Pronto. “Yeah, there was some…other stuff that happened,” he admitted. Pete winced, like he’d been hit. “But it’s nothing we can’t get past. I know you weren’t really yourself, but it’s just uncomfortable when I remember everything and you don’t.”

“Do I want to know what else I did?” Pete asked cautiously.

"I mean...I didn't like say anything terrible to you, do anything to hurt you, or, um...like do something you weren't okay with?"

Patrick shook his head, because if Pete didn't remember and it was something forgivable, then it wasn't worth Patrick holding against him. “Like I said, it’s nothing we can’t get past. I’ll spare you the details; you’ll just have to trust me.”

Pete gave a relieved nod, like if Patrick said it would be okay, then it would be okay. “So, what would make you feel better about last night?”

“Well, breakfast definitely helped,” Patrick said, gesturing to the spread in front of him. He’d discovered a cookie in the bag as well, and had already started digging in, nutrition be damned. “It wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate the gesture.”

“Sounds like I should’ve gone for a five-course meal instead.”

Patrick laughed. “You can save that for when I _don’t_ tell you it’ll be okay.” He fiddled with the paper bag. This was his last chance, and he had to word it carefully, so Pete would focus on what he was really asking and not the ridiculousness of the question. “I was just kind of wondering, like we've known each other a long time. We've been through a lot of things together, shared a lot of adult experiences and hardships together—home ownership, school, careers—but sex is something where we're not even on the same playing field. I guess what I'm asking is...does me being a virgin have that much of an impact on you and like, our friendship? Like does it change things between us that would be different if I were experienced?”

Pete bit his lip, glancing at Patrick nervously. “Look, it’s not like it's something I’m always thinking about, but…how do I make this not sound bad? I try to be _conscious_ of the fact that you’re not having sex. Like…there’s stuff I don’t talk to you about because you couldn’t relate. There are times when I want to go out and find someone to hook up with, but I don’t invite you because I know you don’t do that and you wouldn’t have a good time. And sometimes I make myself stay in because I don’t want you to feel like I’m ditching you,” he admitted.

Patrick was quiet for a moment, his mind reeling with all the conversations his friends had about sex that stopped when he walked in the room. The late-night outings where Pete would pack Patrick into a cab and send him home alone. And worse, the parties they'd half-heartedly invite him to because they knew it was rude not to, and the relief and guilt on their faces as they walked out the door without him. And those were only the times Pete had gone out. How many times had Pete turned down plans to stay home and binge watch a show with Patrick or come to knock on Patrick’s door with a pizza when he knew Patrick was upset?

"I didn't mean for it to go on this long, you know," Patrick said swallowing thickly. "I really thought by now that I'd be in a long-term relationship or maybe even married. But it just never happened, and the longer I waited, the less sense it made for me to just have sex with anyone.”

"I don’t really blame you, though. I mean there’s no use saving yourself just to end up with some random guy you met at a bar.” Pete wrinkled his nose in distaste. “And no offense, but I just can’t see you going home with someone you just picked up. That doesn’t even make sense in my head.”

Patrick frowned. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me because of that? You, Joe, and Andy all go out to hook up with people.”

“There’s _nothing_ wrong with you,” Pete said adamantly. “I think it’s lovely and so _Patrick_ of you that you're waiting for a relationship for that kind of intimacy.” Pete looked at him a little shyly. “I kind of wish I’d been like that, but I made my choices and it just didn’t make sense for me to stop once I started.” Pete shrugged his shoulders. “I always try not to make you feel awkward about it. I just fucked up last night, and I really am sorry, Patrick. I love you, like, to an insane level, and I couldn't stand it if we were fighting over this. Do you think you can forgive me?”

Patrick knew Pete had been a considerate friend to him, always thinking about him and defending him, even when Patrick’s philosophy was different from Pete’s own. It seemed petty holding Pete’s one drunken slipup against him, even if Patrick's face still burned with shame when Pete's lewd whispers from last night filled his ears, even if he could feel the ghost of Pete's lips on his neck.

Pete loved him, loved him the way flowers loved the sun, the way grass loved rain. When Pete loved, he loved with his whole heart, and he was exceptionally tactile in proving it; if the way he clung to Patrick was any indication, there was already no one he cared for more on this earth. Even if Pete's feelings for him weren't sexual, Patrick had still won the prize of his heart. It wasn't Pete's fault that Patrick craved more, the most passionate love a heart could give. Just like it wasn't fair for Patrick to hold his forgiveness hostage because Pete couldn't meet him in the middle this time. It was Patrick's heart that was making this harder, getting in the way of his friendship with Pete. He needed to move past his feelings and accept the limitations of their relationship, but for now he needed to focus on making things right with Pete.

He stood up from the table, grabbing the paper bag and the empty cup on his way to the trash. He stopped in front of Pete, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Of course, you idiot,” he said, giving Pete a warm smile. When he looked into Pete's eyes, he saw a flash of Pete the night before as he'd fled Patrick’s room. Whether Pete remembered or not, Patrick realized that he hadn’t been completely innocent last night, either. His caustic words had hurt Pete almost the same.

He tossed his garbage into the can before turning back to Pete. “You know, we both fuck things up sometimes, but we’re best friends, roommates. Neither one of us is going anywhere. I guess what I'm trying to say is I love you, too, okay? We're all good.”

“I appreciate that,” Pete said. “But I still feel like I need to make it up to you. I ruined your night way before I ever made that stupid comment.”

“Just never drag me to a party again,” Patrick said seriously. “It was an absolute nightmare. Next time you want a hook up, just go to a goddamn bar and leave me out of it.”

Pete wrinkled his nose. “I should really stop doing that. It’s not like I’m bringing home anybody worthwhile. Maybe I'll take a leaf out of your book for a bit.”

Patrick almost choked. “And be what, celibate? The Great Player Pete Wentz sitting on the couch jerking off instead of fucking someone?” Patrick laughed and Pete rolled his eyes.

“Okay, maybe you’re right. I’ll just need to come up with somewhere a little classier to meet people.” Pete’s eyes lit up as they settled on Patrick. “Speaking of, maybe we should be concentrating on your love life right now. You’ve been depriving your body for way too long. What do you think about going out and trying to meet someone?” He nudged Patrick lightly.

Patrick’s eyebrows shot up. “You…want to help me find a guy?”

“Yeah, I think it’s the least I can do for you. I pick people up all the time, so I can help you spot the ones that are looking to meet someone and don't just want a quickie in the bathroom. Do you think you’re ready, though?”

“To meet the guy I want to settle down with? I mean, I think I am, but I won’t know for sure until I try. But do you really expect me to find him in the local bar?” Patrick asked.

Pete smirked and laughed. “We’ll only try the bar until we get your flirting skills good enough, and then we’ll move on to a more realistic place. But yeah, maybe we just need to focus on finding someone you can have your first time with. It doesn’t have to be the guy you’re going to be with forever—just someone you can trust enough to be physical with." Pete was pacing now, his expression pensive. "Someone experienced, who can show you the ropes without taking advantage of you. Someone safe, who you can try things out and experiment with and not have it be a big deal if you mess up or don’t know what you’re doing.”

"Like you?" Patrick blurted out. He saw Pete's eyes widen and wished his brain-to-mouth filter was functioning a little better at the moment.

"Me?” Pete questioned, like he expected there to be someone else standing right behind him that Patrick was referring to instead. “You're asking me to...deflower you?" Pete took a deep breath, like he was a parent preparing to have The Talk with his child.

"It's not like we haven't done anything before," Patrick said in a small voice. His heart was beating so fast now that he felt sick. "We've kissed and touched and stuff. Just last night you were saying...if I don't find someone to sleep with me, you might have to do it yourself.”

Pete mumbled something about not remembering that, but Patrick could see from the flush on his face and his lack of eye contact that he was lying. “Besides,” Patrick continued, “you’re like an expert at sex, aren't you? You could teach me everything you know...” He saw the panic rising on Pete’s face and realized he was pushing him too far. “Never mind, it's a stupid idea,” he said quickly, backpedaling. “I–I won’t make you have sex with me just so I can feel better about myself. I’ll figure something else out."

Pete's mouth was half open in shock and Patrick wished the jaws of hell would open through the floor of this stupid apartment and swallow him whole. He went to the sink to wash the stickiness off his hands, allowing Pete a few seconds to come up with a kind way to let him down.

When Pete did speak, his voice sounded weak, like he’d been ill. "Look, Trick, I don't want you to think it has anything to do with you; it doesn't. You're my best friend and I really care about you. And no matter what you think, you're absolutely beautiful, so don’t you dare start feeling bad about yourself. "

"But?"

"You wouldn't want me to be your first," Pete said dismissively. "You want it to be with someone you can actually go out on dates with and even be in a relationship with if you want. You don’t want to be another notch in the town slut’s bedpost.”

Patrick grimaced. “I don’t think of you as the town slut. You’re my friend, and you’d be helping me out. Is it just too weird because we’re friends?”

Pete tilted his head. “Well, yeah, a little. I don’t usually have sex with my friends, and I don’t become friends with people I have sex with. I like to keep those two worlds as separate as possible. Makes things easier.”

 _That’s not what you were saying last night when you were on top of me_ , Patrick wanted to argue, but he stayed silent instead. He knew this battle was lost. Pete would only ever want him when he was drunk out of his mind and didn’t have any other options, which really added up to just wanting _anyone_ , not necessarily Patrick.

"Chin up, Trick," Pete said, patting Patrick on the back. “I’m still here to help you out. First, we'll find you a guy to flirt with and kiss. Then it might be someone else to have sex and build intimacy. And someday,” Pete mused, “you're going to meet the one—a guy who gives you butterflies in your stomach just holding his hand, a guy who kisses you like you're the air he breathes and thinks the sun rises and sets with your smile."

 _I already did_. "That sounds like a beautiful thing to experience," he said thickly.

"It is," Pete said with a knowing smile. Patrick wondered for a moment who, out of all the people he’d watched Pete parade around, had made him feel that way. Pete didn’t seem sad mentioning it, so it must’ve been a long time ago, maybe before he met Patrick. "But right now we're just going to focus on finding someone good enough to practice with."

“Okay,” Patrick relented. “I’ll give it a try. But if it doesn’t go well,” he warned, “I’m doing this my own way on like a fucking dating site or something.”

“Deal. We start tonight,” Pete said with a devilish grin.

Patrick’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that like, really soon?” he asked stupidly. Fuck, he didn’t mean he was ready _right now_ , but that was the kind of thing that happened when Pete took control of a situation. Everything was run by whims and impulses in Pete’s life. He was amazed the guy was still alive. Actually, he might not be if not for Patrick…

“There’s no time like right now,” Pete said, voice chipper for the first time that morning. “This is going to be so much fun!” He darted down the hall to his bedroom and slammed the door, already plotting out his plan to commandeer Patrick’s love life.

Patrick groaned and put his head in his hands. He had no idea what he was in for tonight with Pete steering the ship, but he did know one thing—he was utterly terrified.


	2. The Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and Patrick go out to a bar to get started on their mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely fucking exhausted and have been trying to get this edited and posted for like two weeks now. Life has really sucked lately or I would've posted this sooner. I didn't check this to make sure everything looks right, so if there's anything coded wrong, let me know. 
> 
> I'm adding angst to this story, because apparently, I'm incapable of writing a long fic without it.

_I’m hopeless_ , Patrick thought. _Why doesn’t he just say it already?_ He was trying on outfit number fourteen in less than twenty minutes, feeling more like a kid playing dress-up with each passing second. It didn’t help that Pete was perched on his bed, looking even sexier than usual. Patrick frowned at his reflection.

“Maybe we’ll go shopping tomorrow,” Pete said, tilting his head at Patrick’s current ensemble.

“That doesn’t help me tonight, though,” Patrick scoffed.

“Relax, I can help you figure something out for tonight,” Pete assured him. “I’ll just make sure the rest of you makes up for your sucky fashion sense.”

Patrick’s mouth dropped open. “You look like a hobo half the time!” he accused. “You don’t have the right to criticize my fashion choices!”

Pete smirked as he rose from the bed and wandered closer. “Yeah, but at least I know how to dress when I want someone to take me home,” he said, gesturing at his own outfit. “Don’t worry—you’ll get here eventually.”

Patrick tried not to stare at the way Pete’s jeans were so tight, like a second skin, accentuating all the parts of him that Patrick wanted to kiss and…do other things to that he’d never done to anyone before. And yeah, dressing like that worked like a charm for Pete, but Pete was inhumanly gorgeous. He could waltz down the street wearing a trash bag and still turn heads (for his looks, not just because he'd make a spectacle of himself being dressed so peculiarly). Meanwhile, Patrick had been at war with the mirror for most of his life, cringing every time it showed him his thick thighs or pointed out his full stomach.

When it came to looks, Pete was at the top of the food chain and Patrick was a peasant begging for scraps. So, all in all, anything that looked good and normal on Pete would never ever work for Patrick. “I’m not dressing like that,” Patrick said firmly. “People would cover their eyes.”

Pete crossed his arms. “Firstly, that’s ridiculous—anyone who would cover their eyes looking at you is just shielding their corneas from how stunningly beautiful you are, inside and out.” Patrick snorted and Pete fixed him with a stern look until he was quiet.

“Secondly, we’ve gone over this already, Patrick,” Pete admonished him. “Bad self-talk is the worst possible thing you could do before you go out to meet someone. We’re going to kick that habit right now. You have to say one positive thing about yourself before we leave.”

“What— _now_?” Patrick said. Was this a therapy session or something?

“Yes, now do it,” Pete commanded.

Patrick froze. What the hell was he supposed to say about himself that was nice? He hadn't even _thought_ anything nice about himself in at least a year or two.

“Do I have to do it for you?”

Patrick’s curiosity was piqued. “Yeah, um…maybe.”

“Okay, fine.” Pete came in closer, resting his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, squaring their gazes up perfectly. Patrick thought for a second that Pete was going to kiss him, but he stopped a few inches short of bringing their mouths together. Standing this close, Patrick could see every detail of Pete’s amber eyes as they gazed into his own. _Fuck, he’s so beautiful_ , Patrick thought, his heart clenching in his chest.

“Out of all the glowing things I could say about you, Trick, it’s really hard to pick just one.” Pete trailed a finger down the length of Patrick’s sleeve. Patrick fought his instinct to lean into Pete's touch. 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Stop messing with me and just say I’m a nice friend or whatever so we can get this over with.”

Pete looked at him smugly. “You know what? I’m going to give you the most meaningful compliment I can now just so you’ll feel like an asshole.” He tilted his head in thought for a few seconds. When he focused on Patrick again, his brow was creased, his expression serious.

“Okay, I’ve got one for you that’s definitely going to make you regret saying bad things about yourself.” Pete’s voice was low, a tinge of sorrow bleeding into his words as one warm hand traveled up to cup Patrick's face. “Patrick, you are the most devoted person I’ve ever known. Every time my dark thoughts start trickling in and I feel like I can't keep going...you're the one who chases it all away and makes me feel safe again. It doesn't matter if it's 3 a.m. and I've kept you up every night that week. You never let me down when I need you.” Pete took a deep, stabilizing breath and cast his eyes downward. “Without you…I wouldn’t be here anymore.” His voice shook, breaking a little on the last words. "And that's why you can't think bad things about yourself, Patrick: you've always been my hero." 

Pete’s heartfelt words hit Patrick square in his chest, seeping through his skin and sinking into the core of his being, where they melded with his blood cells and raced through his veins, spreading comfort, anguish, love—the incomprehensible mixture of emotions Pete stirred in him. He remembered with an uncomfortable vividness the time that Pete had almost left this world, almost left _Patrick_ , forever. But Patrick had swooped in just in time. He'd picked up Pete's pieces and put him back together, sacrificed to stay by Pete’s side, fighting his demons off until Pete could do it on his own.

It was a time they rarely spoke about now, so for Pete to relive and lay bare the most horrific pain of his life to prove Patrick’s worth to him made Patrick’s skin feel too tight. He may not have Pete’s heart the way he wanted it, but he has so much more of it than anyone else. And in comparison, Patrick’s unrequited feelings were trivial.

He pulled Pete into a tight hug, hoping that the physical connection, the way Patrick cradled Pete’s head against the crook of his neck, the way Patrick’s other hand trailed a soothing pattern down the older man’s back, would say everything Patrick couldn’t. “Okay, you win,” Patrick admitted quietly. “Thank you, Petey.” _You’re everything to me_ , Patrick added in his head.

“Anytime, Pattycakes,” Pete said, his tone shifting back to casual as he slid stiffly out of Patrick’s embrace. His smile wavered as he tried to get his bearings again. “I’m always here to remind you how special you are, if you can’t see it on your own. Now if I tell you that you _can_ pull off something sexy, will you believe me?”

“Probably not,” Patrick said truthfully. “But I promise to hear you out, at least.”

“Deal,” Pete said, his smile more genuine now. He picked a shirt out of Patrick’s closet that they’d tried on ten minutes before. “Put this on,” he instructed. He started rifling through Patrick’s clothes, hangers flying to the floor as Patrick cringed. He’d spent two hours reorganizing his closet last week and now it was going to be torn apart by his tornado of a best friend. Patrick chastised himself for being upset; he’d rather spend the rest of his life cleaning up after Pete than spend it missing him.

Watching Pete, he realized that maybe Pete’s determination to help him wasn’t just about what he’d said last night; maybe it was Pete’s way of repaying Patrick for everything he’d done for Pete. Patrick needed to be a good sport about this for Pete’s sake. He smirked at the pun and took off his shirt, grateful that Pete wasn’t watching him this time. He tossed the shirt onto his bed and pulled the one Pete had handed him over his head. It didn’t make much of a difference over the last one, but Pete was more experienced here, so Patrick would bow to his expertise.

Pete suddenly halted his destruction. His hand rested on the arm of a leather jacket that hung forlornly in the back of Patrick’s closet. “Where did you get this?” he asked.

“Gift from my mom,” Patrick explained.

“Why don’t you wear it?”

“Because it seems like…over the top?” Patrick was more of the wallflower type, and this jacket screamed a lot of things that he wasn’t.

“Is that your way of saying it’s too sexy?” Pete asked.

Patrick stared at him.

“Put it on,” Pete said, holding the jacket out to him. Patrick fingered the smooth leather, the silver accents. It felt expensive. He caught a look at the name on the label and his eyes went wide. No, he couldn’t possibly wear this out tonight.

“My arm is tired, Patrick,” Pete said, sounding slightly peeved. “Please just put it on. If it’s bad, I won’t make you wear it, but I think it deserves to be tried on just once before you banish it back into the depths of your closet.”

“Fine,” Patrick bit out. He felt the weight of the jacket in his hands as he took the hanger from Pete. The zipper was as smooth as butter as he pulled the tab down. When he slid his arms into the sleeves, he felt like an imposter.

Pete’s eyes darkened. “You’re wearing it,” he decided. Pete wordlessly guided him to stand in front of a mirror and hovered behind him, his head just visible over Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick liked the way the jacket looked on him, but he’d never tell Pete that. It was fancy, it looked striking against his pale skin, and yes, it was _sexy_. For one daring moment, Patrick let himself imagine that Pete’s arms were around him, and they were a couple giving themselves a glance in the mirror before they headed out for a date night. Maybe Patrick was biased, but he thought they looked good together.

“You like it,” Pete surmised, his grin widening. “Well it’s on you for the night, then. Now we just have to do something with your hair.” Pete turned off Patrick’s lights and pulled him out the door and down the hall to his bedroom. Patrick allowed himself to be dragged into Pete’s en suite bathroom (the bastard had argued that since he was older, he should get the master bedroom, and Patrick had been naïve enough to just agree. Although Pete really did need the storage for all of his poem-lined notebooks.).

Pete ran his fingers through Patrick’s hair before rummaging in the cabinets for products. He worked Patrick’s hair into a sleek style that Patrick knew he could never achieve on his own and then stood back to admire his work. “There, you look absolutely scrumptious. The guys are all just going to eat you up,” he proclaimed.

“Do I want to be eaten, necessarily? I thought this was just to get me talking to people.” Patrick frowned, feeling like there was something Pete wasn’t saying. What exactly were Pete’s plans for tonight? Was he going to shove Patrick at the first good-looking guy he saw and then wander off to find his own? That would explain the outfit. Patrick knew Pete wouldn’t dress like that just for show—he had a purpose.

“Not _eaten_ exactly,” Pete clarified. “But you want them to _want_ to eat you. Figuratively, of course. For now,” he added with a wink.

Patrick felt mortified. He couldn’t handle a Pete who was making innuendos in front of him, dressed in skin-tight clothes, and practically vibrating with sexual energy. “Save your blushing for your suitors,” Pete advised, patting him on the cheek. “They’ll love it.”

Patrick was just about to call this whole night off for the good of his mental health when he saw Pete squinting at a spot below his ear. “Hey, what’s that on your neck?” Pete asked.

 _Fuck_. He’d forgotten about Pete’s love bite the previous night. “Oh, um…” Patrick’s hand subconsciously rose to touch the mark.

A look of understanding mixed with panic dawned on Pete’s face. “Oh,” he said slowly, “that was me, wasn’t it?”

Patrick bit his lip and nodded, avoiding Pete’s gaze. Pete was determined to avoid his eyes as well, making for an incredibly awkward few seconds. “Sorry, Lunchbox. I know I get a little more handsy than usual when I drink. You’ve got to stop me next time.”

“Yeah. Sure, I will” Patrick muttered half-heartedly. It wasn’t having Pete’s marks on him that bothered Patrick. Hell, he’d walk around with polka-dotted skin, as long as the marks came from Pete. The problem was Pete’s shame over the evidence of their trysts, like he thought everyone who saw the hickeys on Patrick would intuitively know that he’d put them there. Or maybe Pete just didn’t like having a visual reminder of his lapse in judgment. No matter how much Pete joked around and flirted with him, Patrick knew the truth: Pete would never go for someone like Patrick while sober.

“At least you’ll look like a hot commodity,” Pete said, breaking into Patrick’s thoughts. His cheerfulness felt contrived. Pete clearly didn’t remember everything from the night before (if he did, he’d be freaking out), but he knew bits and pieces—just enough to make him uncomfortable.

“Hardly,” Patrick said, feigning sarcasm.

He and Pete were facing each other now, Pete smiling fondly at him. The haze of uneasiness in the air was receding. “So, are you ready for a wild night?”

As much as Patrick really wanted to stay in, he could tell that this outing meant something to Pete, and Patrick was, above all else, a good friend. He drew in a breath and told Pete to lead the way. Their apartment door closed after them with the finality of a guillotine.

***  
Patrick was five seconds from throwing up. They stood outside a somewhat upscale bar—definitely not the kind where jobless creeps with STDs would hang out, Pete assured him. In spite of all of Pete’s reassurances, Patrick, who hadn’t been on so much as a date in an eon, had alarm bells going off in his head. “I can’t do this.”

“Your future husband could be in there!”

“Future husband? I thought we were just looking for a guy for me to _date_ , Pete! Are you in a hurry to get rid of me?” Maybe that’s why Pete was acting so strangely tonight: he wanted to hook Patrick up with a guy pronto so he could consider his mission accomplished and run off to find a hookup of his own.

Pete waved a hand dismissively. “A guy to date, a guy to fuck, a guy to marry—they might all be different guys, or they could end up being the same one. Either way, my goal is to get you from point A to point B, and I don’t really care much how it happens.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “That sounded really bad, didn’t it?” Pete asked, cringing. “What I mean is that I don’t care how we get there as long as you’re happy in the end,” he amended. “Now get in there and let’s find somebody to start you out.” He clapped Patrick on the back and nearly shoved him toward the door.

When Patrick stumbled in, the first thing he noticed was how crowded it was, even for a Saturday night. There were already bodies pressed against his near the doorway. Someone shoved him to the side where he stood still, taking in the glow of the mood lighting, the smell of expensive booze, and the sounds of laughter all around. It was overwhelming, which reminded him why he didn’t like going to places like this.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s grab some seats,” Pete said from right behind him. A hand came up to rest on Patrick’s shoulder, pressing him forward. He gave in and his legs moved as Pete steered him toward a table near the bar.

“I’m gonna get you a drink,” Pete said in his ear. “Stay here and scope out the crowd.”

He sat on the uncomfortable little chair, shifting around nervously as he watched the steady stream of people walk by. Everyone was in business attire, the men in blazers and dress shirts and the women in dresses or some sort of frilly top with dress pants. Patrick felt underdressed in a t-shirt and jeans, even if his jacket cost more than the rest of these people’s entire outfits.

Luckily, Pete was back before he had too much time to work himself into another panic. A cold glass was shoved into Patrick’s hand. “Take a drink; you’ll feel better,” Pete assured him.

Patrick took a sip and smiled at the familiar taste of his favorite cocktail. Pete knew him so well that it made Patrick’s heart ache for a moment over what could be if the stars were aligned just right.

“Happy now?” Pete asked, his lips twisting into a smirk.

Patrick nodded slowly, focusing on Pete and the reassuring feelings that always came over Patrick in his presence. No matter where he was or what he was going through, he was always better when Pete was there with him.

“And have you spotted anyone you want to talk to yet?” Pete asked him.

“I—haven’t looked around yet. I don’t know what I’m doing, and…I feel kind of overwhelmed,” Patrick admitted. The mixture of his longing for Pete and his anxiety over the night ahead of him was making his stomach lurch. He should’ve gone over this in his head before he let Pete drag him out. He should’ve turned Pete down. He should’ve done a lot of things that would’ve prevented the situation he was currently in.

Pete gave him a sympathetic smile and leaned in closer. Patrick was mesmerized by the way the dim light twinkled in Pete’s eyes, like stars in the night sky. Patrick imagined himself falling into them, feeling weightless but secure, because he was in Pete’s eyes, and Pete was safe. Pete was familiar. Pete was everything, and— “Trick, you can’t be drunk from one sip,” Pete said, snapping his fingers in front of Patrick’s face. “What did I just say?”

“Umm…”

“Exactly. You’re so anxious that you can’t focus. What I _said_ was that this night is no pressure. You don’t have to get anyone here to date you or kiss you or anything. You’re just looking to talk to someone, learn how to get them interested in you so next time when you see someone you like, it won’t be so daunting.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Patrick murmured, swirling his finger around the rim of the glass in front of him.

“Take another sip,” Pete said, nodding at Patrick’s drink. “Actually, take the whole thing—I feel like you need it.”

Patrick didn’t have any better ideas, so he did as Pete suggested and downed the rest of his glass. It felt invigorating to have a little liquid courage in his veins. “Why do people do this?” he asked.

“Because sex is fun, and if you’re not in a relationship, this is the cheapest, easiest way to get it.”

“You do realize that was a rhetorical question, right?”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What about him?" He pointed to a tall, thin brunette who was laughing with a small group of friends nearby. The guy seemed more like Pete’s type than his. Patrick shook his head.

"Then what do you want in a guy? What's your ideal man like?" Pete said.

 _You_ , Patrick thought, his face heating up. He had to think of his grandma's underwear for a solid ten seconds to get a neutral expression back on his face.

Pete was watching him with amusement, leaning his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand.

Patrick scowled. "What?"

Pete grinned back at him. "You still haven't answered me,” Pete prompted. “What makes a guy attractive to you, Lunchbox? Tall or short? Blonde, brunette...redhead?" He wiggled his eyebrows and Patrick laughed. "I can't help you find what you want if I don't know what you're looking for, you know."

Patrick supposed Pete was right, but how close could he afford to get to the truth? He couldn’t even remember the last guy he was into before he started having feelings for Pete. He’d been nursing a crush on his best friend for at least half of their more-than-a-decade-long friendship. That was beside the point, though. The point was that he had _no fucking clue_ what he liked in a guy aside from Pete. “I…you’re going to want to kill me.”

“Let me guess,” Pete said. “You don’t know?”

Patrick sighed and stared down at the table. He felt like he was letting Pete down somehow, and a surreptitious glance at Pete’s disappointed face proved him right. Pete was doing this to help him, yes, but he was also trying to absolve himself of guilt for embarrassing Patrick. And he wanted Pete to feel better about what had happened more than Patrick wanted to feel good about himself. Patrick was making this unnecessarily difficult.

"Don't think too hard about it," Pete advised. "If you don’t know, then that just gives us more to choose from. Now go get Mr. Handsome over there to buy your next drink,” Pete said, gesturing at a suave-looking man standing next to the bar. He was dressed in a blazer and fitted trousers, and his hair was slicked back perfectly.

Patrick’s eyes widened. “He looks like Ryan Gosling. No way.” That type of guy would never go for someone like Patrick, not in a million years and not with everyone else on the planet dead.

“I’m not made of money,” Pete reminded him. “You are responsible for anything else you consume here tonight. If you want more alcohol, you need to find your own way to get it.” He crossed his arms to support his point.

Patrick glanced again at the man by the bar. “I don’t know even know where to start,” he confessed. “Especially with a guy like that.”

“Why?” Pete asked. “Because he’s hot? You think you can’t get him to talk to you?”

Patrick really would rather eat his own toenail clippings than have this conversation with Pete right now. Unfortunately, Pete doesn’t seem inclined to let this one slide. “I _know_ I couldn’t get him to talk to me. He’s the kind of guy who would’ve made fun of me in high school,” Patrick said sheepishly. “He’s so perfect. Is he even gay? He could be straight and I’m about to make an ass of myself trying to hit on him.”

“So what?” Pete shrugged. “You’ll never see him again.”

In other circumstances, Patrick would have marveled at Pete’s ability to make even the most heart-stopping things look like child’s play. Right now, though, he was too preoccupied with his own seemingly endless limitations. “I just can’t do it, Pete. I don’t know how.”

“Then practice on me.”

Practice with Pete? Patrick’s heart fluttered. “Practice what, exactly? Talking?”

“No, _flirting_. You know, that thing you do when you talk to someone you like to charm them into liking you back?” Pete was looking at Patrick like he was from another planet.

Patrick narrowed his eyes at his friend. “I know what flirting is. Why would I practice flirting with you?”

Pete put his hand over his heart, feigning offense at Patrick’s words. “Because it’ll help you learn how to talk to guys like Mr. Handsome over there without losing your shit.”

As much as he wanted to scoff and tell Pete that he was conceited, in a roundabout way, maybe Pete was right. Flirting with Pete, a guy he’d had feelings for for years, would be far more intimidating than talking to any guy in this bar. If he could survive sweet-talking Pete, he could make it through a conversation with Mr. Handsome. “Okay, you have a valid point,” Patrick admitted.

Pete smiled. “Yeah? So, go ahead. Give me your best shot,” Pete said, straightening up to face Patrick. "What would you say if you were trying to pick me up?"

Patrick’s eyes widened. “Pick you up? I—”

Pete pressed his finger against Patrick’s lips to hush him. Patrick fought the urge to kiss it. “No excuses. Now come on and woo me.”

Patrick could feel his face heating up. He felt foolish. If he had met Pete out at a bar and tried to talk to him, he could’ve never gotten his attention. He wasn’t hot enough or interesting enough for someone like Pete.

Pete waved a hand in front of Patrick’s face, breaking through the wall of anxiety Patrick was frantically building in his mind. “You’re getting too into your own head again,” Pete said, frowning. He leaned forward and took the hand Patrick was resting on the table in both of his. The warm strength of his hands made Patrick shiver.

“I know you have ideas about yourself that you’re not good enough or not attractive enough or whatever ridiculous notion you have in your head. But, Patrick, none of that is true. You’re absolutely beautiful inside and out. You’re smart and thoughtful and sweet, and I swear you have more talent in your little finger than I have in my entire body. I just wish you would give yourself even half the credit you deserve.”

Patrick shook his head, blushing at Pete’s compliments. “None of that is true. You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“It is true, even if you don’t see it,” Pete insisted, squeezing his hand. “But you need to start seeing it, even just a little, if this is something you want to do. If you can’t project confidence when you’re talking to someone, you’ll come across as uncertain,” Pete explained. “They’re going to think you’re not really into them or that you’re not interesting enough to be worth their time. So, you’ll be putting out all of this effort and putting yourself through so much anxiety to even talk to them, and you’ll leave every conversation without a phone number or a date, feeling even worse about yourself.”

Fuck, when did Pete turn into the smart, sensible one? “I’ll admit that you’re probably right,” Patrick conceded, much to Pete’s glee. “I’m not a confident person, though. I can’t just walk up to someone I don’t know and pretend I’m the most worthy person they’ll ever meet.” What he wanted to say was _I’m not like you_ , but Patrick didn’t want to draw attention to how unalike they were—an apple and an orange. No, an apple and an elephant—one delicious and perfect, the other useful but boring. Yeah, that was him and Pete to a T.

Pete shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, think of it this way, you probably never would’ve tried to talk to me if Joe hadn’t introduced us. But he threw us together and made us talk. I then became obsessed with you, and now you’re my favorite person on the planet,” Pete said. “And I think I rank pretty high on your list, too.”

Patrick felt his heart tumble in his chest. Pete had no idea how high he ranked. “I…I’ve never really thought about how it happened—us, I mean. We just started talking and became really good friends.”

Pete nodded. “Exactly. Because you weren’t worried about getting my attention or impressing me—you knocked my socks off just by being you. And here you are over a decade later, sitting in a bar with me coaching you on how to get a guy. So the moral of the story here is that if you find someone you want to talk to, just show them who you are and let them make the decision about if they want you to be in their life. If they don’t, then they’re missing out. You’re the cuddliest pillow in the world, and I’m not sharing unless I absolutely have to.”

Patrick laughed heartily. “I suppose that’s pretty solid advice,” Patrick said. “I still don’t know what to actually say, though.”

“Want me to start us off?” Pete offered. He was smiling and sympathetic and everything Patrick could’ve asked for. Pete had the patience of a saint when it came to Patrick, and it made some of Patrick’s anxiety melt into something warm and comforting.

“Yeah, okay.” That seemed like a much safer option to Patrick. It would be pretty awkward to accidentally tell Pete that he daydreams about kissing him as a conversation starter.

Pete scooted his chair closer to Patrick so that they were a mere few inches apart at their table and flashed him a bright smile. “Hi there. What's a sweet, little cherub like you doing drinking alone?" Pete said smoothly.

And, okay, they were doing this. Patrick had to remind himself that Pete was playing a role; he wasn't really trying to get into Patrick's pants. The sultry tone to his voice and the gleam in his eyes were part of the act. No, Patrick's palms weren’t sweaty—that was moisture from the empty drink he hadn't touched in like five minutes. And his heart was definitely not beating any differently because Pete was practically undressing Patrick with his eyes. “Just had a long week and felt like I could use a drink or two,” he answered, trying to keep his voice even and casual.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe a little company would help you relax a little?” Pete asked, pouring on the charm.

Their knees brushed together under the table and Patrick stiffened. He had to swallow around the lump in his throat to answer Pete. “Um…if it’s good company, then yeah.”

Pete’s grin widened. “It’ll definitely be good company. I want to make sure you forget all about your stressful week.”

Patrick smiled back shyly. “And how are you going to do that?” he asked, hoping that’s what he was supposed to say.

“Welllll,” Pete said, “I could start by helping you notice the small pleasures in life.” Pete reached out and fingered the zipper of Patrick's jacket. "Like this lovely jacket you’re wearing. It makes you look so distinguished and handsome.” Pete’s lips quirked into a sexy smile that made Patrick’s breath catch in his throat. What he wouldn’t give to grab Pete by his fucking tight jeans and pull him in so close that their bodies felt like one and wipe the smile off his annoyingly handsome face with a long, passionate kiss. In a totally platonic way, of course.

"Oh, um, thank you," Patrick replied, searching his mind for something conversational to say back. He opted for some honesty. "It's new. I haven't worn it until tonight. I wasn't sure if it was me or not."

"Well it did get my attention," Pete said, grinning widely, “so it was a good choice. But, I have to admit," he whispered, leaning in so close that Patrick felt Pete's breath against his neck, "I'm more interested in what's underneath it." Then Pete did the one thing that could cause Patrick to lose the little scrap of sanity he was hanging onto. He flattened his palm against Patrick's chest and slid it underneath Patrick's jacket. His hand brushed against Patrick’s nipple through his shirt, sending a spark of electricity through Patrick’s body.

And that was Patrick's limit. He pushed Pete back from him a little harder than he meant to. Luckily, Pete had good reflexes and recovered before he fell off the chair. “What was that for?”

"You come on really strong,” Patrick said emphatically. “No wonder you hook up with people so much.” Pete made a noise of disapproval. “No, really,” Patrick argued, “you were about two seconds from humping my leg, so cool off. I thought we were trying to get me _talking_ to people, not fucking a stranger in a bathroom stall.” Not that Patrick would’ve minded if Pete had started humping his leg, but, you know, appearances.

“I know that,” Pete explained. “It was just an example of what some flirting skills can do. Plus, it was fun to watch you blush.” Pete winked at him.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Good thing you like those.”

Patrick blanched.

“I’m just messing with you!” Pete exclaimed. “Come on, Trick. We were having fun—admit it. Now you try it on me. Pretend you just walked up to me and you want my number or something."

"Okay," Patrick said uncertainly. He could do this. He could totally do this. He looked at Pete, wondering what in the hell he, as a complete stranger, would say to Pete. But all he came up with was like Star Wars or poetry, and that was cheating.

What had he even thought of Pete the first time they met? Oh, right—that smile, that mischievous look in his eyes that had induced Patrick to do so many things that were completely out of character, and in some cases, simply stupid. And now Pete was wearing a calm smile, watching the gears turn in Patrick’s head.

"Hi," Patrick said. "I was just watching you from across the bar, and I couldn't help but notice your beautiful smile. I wanted to see it a little closer up, if that's okay with you."

Pete's smile was proud and genuine. “I’m flattered, sweetheart. You can watch me smile all night if you play your cards right," he said, his voice low and sultry.

Patrick felt a blush rise in his cheeks. He had to remind himself that this was Pete he was flirting with, not an actual stranger at a bar. It was not okay to show obvious signs of having a crush on Pete _when actually talking to Pete_. He tried not to let his voice tremble when he spoke. "Oh, um…I'm a pretty respectful kind of guy. I'm not here to take you home; I just wanted to talk to you and see if I can make you laugh a little."

"Oh yeah?" Pete said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” And if Patrick didn't know better, he'd say Pete was actually flirting back. His body language was open and engaged, his body angled toward Patrick’s, their knees brushing again. This experiment was going to be the death of Patrick.

What the hell was he supposed to say to Pete as a stranger that would make him laugh? He sifted through the file of useless information in the back of his mind for something funny. “Did you know that vending machines are twice as likely to kill you as sharks?” he blurted out.

Pete burst out laughing. It was a sound that Patrick cherished; he wanted to bottle it and carry it with him every time he heard it. “What the hell, Patrick?” he asked. “Did you make that up right now, or is that a real fact?”

“Oh, it’s real,” Patrick said smugly. “Just as real as that laugh was. So did I get it right?”

"Okay, well, you won me over," Pete said approvingly. "If I were a stranger at a bar, I’d totally give you my number.” Patrick didn’t have time to bask in that thought before Pete was nodding toward Mr. Handsome again. "Think you're ready to try it out on him?

Patrick's eyes went wide. “Um…”

"I can warm him up, if you want,” Pete offered. Patrick nodded gratefully. "Anything for you, Lunchbox," Pete said, pressing a kiss to Patrick's cheek. “I’ll let you know when he’s ready for you.”

Patrick felt butterflies in his stomach as Pete walked away. He pressed his fingertips gently to the spot on his cheek where the feel of Pete’s lips lingered. If he were a braver man, he’d run after Pete right now. He’d press Pete up against the bar and kiss him on the lips, their first sober romantic contact. He’d look into Pete’s gorgeous eyes and tell him the truth: the only guy Patrick wanted in this bar was Pete. He wanted _Pete_ , the man he was closer to than anyone else on this earth, to be all of his firsts, not some stranger he barely knew.

But that was a dream, and Patrick was a realist. If Patrick acted out any of the visions in his head, he knew they would end with Pete gently letting him down followed by a silent walk home, and then an indeterminate stretch of unbearable awkwardness before things got back to normal, if they ever did. And so, Patrick sat squarely in his seat, pining for the clueless man he loved who was trying to hook him up with someone else.

He watched Pete step up to the bar just a few feet from where their target was standing, angling ever so slightly toward him as he vied for the bartender’s attention. Only someone who knew Pete like Patrick did would have known he was acting. Pete’s expression turned to one of disappointment as he failed to wave down anyone. The handsome man had been watching Pete, though, and was suddenly joining his endeavor, shouting over the loud music and waving his hands until a woman in a black and white uniform materialized to take Pete’s order.

Patrick watched Pete ham it up as he thanked the handsome man for his help. His smile was wide as he leaned casually on the bar. Pete was flirting to the highest degree, moving closer to Mr. Handsome so subtly that Patrick doubted the man noticed. Patrick’s jaw almost dropped when he saw Mr. Handsome bat Pete’s hand away when he tried to hand over his credit card _and pulled out his wallet instead_. Oh, wow, Patrick had been doing the absolute wrong things all these years. Maybe if he’d actually _watched_ Pete pick someone up instead of just sulking in a corner waiting to go home, he wouldn’t be needing Pete’s help now to even start a conversation with someone.

Just then, Patrick’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Pete. _Get over here_.

Patrick felt his nerves light up as he rose from his chair and made his way slowly over to where Pete had Mr. Handsome eating out of the palm of his hand. There was a part of him that was secretly proud of Pete, and a part that was also jealous of Mr. Handsome for getting to have Pete all over him. He sidled up next to Pete, who was wearing a huge grin on his face. “Oh, so this is where you ran off to,” Patrick said. He looked Mr. Handsome up and down shamelessly, then rested a hand lightly on Pete’s shoulder just because he could.

“Patrick, this is Warren,” Pete said, gesturing to the tall, handsome man beside him. “He was just telling me all about how he’s in investment banking. I thought you two would have a lot to talk about since you’ve worked in finance before.”

A career in _finance_? That was news to Patrick. And Pete just stood there and fucking smiled while Patrick fumbled with a response. “Um…yeah, I worked in finance for a bit. It’s interesting stuff.” Interesting stuff? More like stab-yourself-in-the-eye kind of stuff, in Patrick’s opinion. If this was the price of talking to this guy, Patrick wasn’t sure he wanted to pay it. He was already there, though, and it would’ve been really awkward to walk away and leave Pete to come up with some sort of excuse for him bailing. “Managing money like that must be a really hard job.”

Warren smiled at him, probably flattered by Patrick’s remark. “It can be, but that doesn’t bother me at all. I eat, sleep, and breathe bonds.” He held up his phone and showed Patrick his lock screen: a picture of the _Wall Street Journal_.

Patrick groaned internally, but pasted a smile on his face for Warren’s benefit. He was never letting Pete pick a guy for him again—if either of them actually survived this conversation with who Patrick was silently renaming Mr. Wall Street.

***  
After an exhausting thirty minutes during which Patrick had to pretend to understand anything about money management, he invented a story about a group of friends that just walked in to extract them both. He probably should've left Pete there, honestly, seeing as this whole scenario was his fault. But Patrick was too desperate for an escape to worry about being mad at his best friend.

Once they were finally out of earshot and around the corner, Patrick rounded on Pete. “So I work in finance, huh? Why the fuck did you lie like that?"

"It doesn't matter," Pete said, brushing him off. "It got him to talk to you, didn't it?"

"You're lucky I learned how to manage a budget from my job as a _manager of a record store_!” Patrick nearly yelled.

“But you learned how to improvise, didn’t you?”

Fuck…Pete was kind of right. “Yeah,” Patrick admitted. “I guess so. But still, I feel like he only liked me because you lied about my career.”

“He liked you, though,” Pete pointed out. “And that’s all that matters at this point. You’re not looking to marry the dude—you just want to have a conversation. The secret is that you have to figure out what they like, and then talk to them about it. Make them think they’re the most fascinating person you’ve ever fucking met.”

“That sounds impossible,” Patrick said, throwing his hands up. “How am I supposed to just know? I mean how did you know to talk to him about banking?”

“Lucky guess,” Pete shrugged. “The guy reeked of money, so I made a game out of guessing what his job was. He just liked hearing all the prestigious titles I threw at him.” Pete rolled his eyes and Patrick laughed. “Remember, Lunchbox: flattery is your most effective weapon when you don’t know where else to start. Just don’t lay it on too thick, or you’ll seem creepy.”

“I could never be as creepy as you are sometimes,” Patrick said. “You’re a really persistent guy.”

Pete scowled back at him. “Everyone likes me; you’re just a dick.”

“Good thing you like those,” Patrick said with a smirk, recycling Pete’s remark from earlier.

“You can’t use my lines against me!”

“Well, I just did. What are you going to do about it?”

Pete’s lips parted and when his breath tickled Patrick’s nose, Patrick realized how close they were standing. “Trick, as much as I like to tease you,” Pete said in a strained voice, “I think we should get going on this um…dating thing.”

“Oh…right.” Patrick took a step back and aimed his gaze at the floor.

Pete scanned the tables nearby. “Found our next guy,” he said. Patrick felt a warm hand grasp his own and, as always, let Pete lead the way.

***

He and Pete tag teamed for over an hour, talking to three or four different guys. Patrick hadn’t particularly liked any of them, but that somehow made them even better practice; if he didn’t want them anyway, then he had nothing to lose. He tried every tactic and approach he could think of. In the end, he and Pete walked out having scored a couple drinks each, a plate of nachos, and two phone numbers (both for Pete, of course).

Still, Patrick couldn’t help but feel bubbly about his progress. He’d talked to complete strangers— _guy_ strangers—and not puked or started babbling incoherently. And none of the guys he’d talked to had rejected him. It had been Patrick who’d politely excused himself every time, and that was a big change from the status quo for him.

“You’re a natural, Trick,” Pete said proudly as they walked back to the apartment. “I don’t know what you were so nervous about. Every guy we talked to really liked you. Maybe I should stop what I’m doing and try to learn your whole ‘cute and humble’ routine.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Patrick said wryly. “I was mostly terrified and am completely shocked that this didn’t end up a total catastrophe. It got a little easier as I went, but it’s still really hard to talk to strangers like that.” He turned to look at Pete and smiled when he caught the other man’s eye. “I couldn’t have gotten through it without you, you know.”

“Awww, Pattycakes, anything for you,” Pete said with a grin. He slung an arm around Patrick and drew him close as they walked, resting his head against Patrick’s shoulder.

Patrick’s heart skipped a beat. And the funny thing was that this was completely normal behavior for Pete, for _them_. They were always cuddling up together or touching in that overly familiar way people had when they’d known each other for a long time. And Patrick loved it. He loved feeling Pete close to him, loved the way Pete smelled, the sound of his breathing, the way their bodies fit together like they were made for it—wow, Patrick had it bad. He needed a subject change before he did something stupid, like tell Pete that he loved him.

“I think that last guy was expecting a three-way or something when you introduced us.” Okay, not the best change of subject ever, but it burst the feelings bubble welling up in Patrick’s chest before it could ruin the evening.

"He probably was,” Pete said thoughtfully. “Maybe next time.”

Well, that wasn't the reaction Patrick was expecting. "Y-you would do that? I thought you said you didn't want to be my first?"

"No, I said _you_ wouldn't want me to be your first," Pete clarified.

Did Pete actually want to have sex with Patrick, or was that just the alcohol talking? Patrick wanted so badly to press Pete for details, but he couldn't handle the possibility that Pete would just laugh it off. That would crush the tiny flower of hope blooming inside Patrick’s chest. Instead, he stayed quiet and enjoyed the excitement of the _maybe_ hanging all around them.

He wondered if Pete could feel it, too—the electricity in the air, the ache in his chest, that gravitational pull whenever they came together. It was an all-consuming feeling that was becoming more inescapable each day for Patrick. He was glad that Pete couldn’t see his furious blush in the shadows of their apartment building lobby.

When they got upstairs to their shared apartment, Pete handed Patrick a water bottle from the fridge so he could sober up a bit. “Don’t forget—bright and early, we’re going shopping tomorrow,” Pete said, in between sips of his own water. “You need to dress the part underneath the jacket, too.”

“And by bright and early you mean?”

“Like eleven, if we’re really early risers,” Pete said with a wicked smile.

Patrick laughed. “And then what?” he asked, taking a sip of his water. The cold liquid felt good going down, but it couldn’t compare to the way he felt when Pete touched him.

“Then we plot our night out,” Pete said, as if that were the natural answer.

“Wait, we’re going out tomorrow night, too? Pete, I have to work on Monday.”

“Relax, Patrick. I’ll have you home by midnight, so you won’t turn into a pumpkin.”

Fuck, Patrick was not ready for things to move this quickly. He can’t even remember the last time he even _kissed_ someone, and the idea of having to kiss a guy when he’s so out of practice is sending his blood pressure up to astronomical levels. “It’s not like this is an emergency or something. Can’t we wait a little before we go out again?”

“What are you really worried about?” Pete asked, his eyes narrowed.

Goddamn Pete and his excellent bullshit senses. "Um…it’s kind of embarrassing,” he started, watching Pete’s face for a change in expression.

“Please, Patrick, I’ve seen you drunk, half-naked, crying—you name it,” Pete said, ticking off each embarrassing situation on his fingers. “My point is: if you can’t trust _me_ with something after all these years we’ve been practically attached to each other, then who can you trust?”

Patrick cleared his throat. Fuck, he really didn’t want to get into his inexperience with Pete, of all people. But was he really going to tell the truth to whatever stranger he dated and not his best friend? That seemed backwards when he really thought about it. His fingers played with the hem of his shirt nervously. “Well…it’s just that…I, um, I haven't even kissed anyone in so long and I'm kind of freaking out? It’s always been so hard to get a guy to pay attention to me, and I’m finally learning so late in the game. Now that I’m getting the hang of it, I’m just thinking about the next step, and that’s obviously dating someone, which I haven’t done in forever,” he rambled. “And dating is hard enough, but then I have to worry about _kissing_. What if a guy tries to kiss me and I actually like him and completely fuck it up because I don't know what I'm doing anymore and then—"

Patrick didn't have a chance to finish his thoughts because suddenly Pete's lips were pressed against his. It was a little sloppy and Pete’s breath tasted like nachos and alcohol, but Patrick didn’t care. The feel of Pete’s lips on his was so different right now from the other few kisses they’d shared. Where those were rushed and felt like mistakes, this one was sensual and slow, like Pete was trying to burn the taste and feel of Patrick into his mind. And Pete was definitely kissing Patrick on purpose this time. Not because he wanted to kiss someone and Patrick was the closest pair of lips, but because he wanted to kiss Patrick.

One of Pete's hands gripped Patrick's waist, keeping him just close enough that their bodies were touching. Pete’s other hand cupped Patrick's cheek lightly. Patrick wanted more, wanted Pete to push him up against the wall and—no, he couldn’t think like that. This was _Pete_. This was his _best friend_. They had a good relationship to protect, and this kiss could send everything tumbling down.

But it was the best kiss Patrick had ever had. Their mouths molded together, working in perfect tandem, like they each knew what the other was going to do next. Patrick wanted to cry at the thought that this could be his only chance to be kissed like this by the man he was in love with. When Pete finally pulled back, Patrick let out a mortifying whimper.

Pete just gave him a smirk in return. “Now you’re back in practice,” he said, slowly backing away. “Don’t forget to be up and ready to go by noon tomorrow,” he added as he disappeared through the doorway of his bedroom, clicking the door shut behind him.

Patrick most definitely did not lie in bed jerking off to the memory of Pete’s touches and kisses for the next hour. He would be ashamed of himself if he did something like that.

It was only as sleep found him that he realized Pete hadn’t picked up anyone—hadn’t even tried. Everything Pete had done tonight, everyone he’d talked to, had all been for Patrick. The person he’d come home with was Patrick. The person he’d just kissed was Patrick. Was it crazy to hope, just for a moment, that maybe somewhere deep down, Pete might feel something for Patrick, too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is still enjoying! Comments and kudos are much appreciated! :)


	3. The City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Listen, um...about last night," Pete said, eyes barely flicking up to meet Patrick's, like he was afraid that if their gazes met for too long, Patrick would see something Pete didn’t want him to. "I hope that was okay with you. The kissing, I mean. I know I should’ve asked you first, but I wasn’t thinking. I've just been pretty, um...horny lately? But that’s still no excuse for taking out my sexual frustration on you every night."
> 
> Patrick’s mind replayed the feel of Pete’s lips against his, Pete’s hands on his body. He’d never felt so electrified. His heart wanted his mouth to scream the truth. _No, it’s not okay. Now I can’t even look at you without blushing and feeling my heart beat out of my chest like a schoolgirl_.
> 
> But he couldn’t afford to say any of it. He’d just end up spilling his guts, maybe doing something stupid like asking Pete to kiss him again. And that—putting that question out into the universe, offering his heart on a platter for Pete to either cherish or reject—wasn’t something Patrick could risk. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is largely self-indulgent, angsty filler that only exists for the purpose of world-building and establishment of characters’ personalities and motives. While there isn’t any smut yet, there is one questionable scene (the first of many) wherein things get pretty heated. Also, I kind of accidentally wrote a scene where Ryan and Brendon are borderline sexual predators. I didn’t mean for it to happen; I just wrote a scene with them as completely innocent people and then went back and flipped the script for some character development for P&P. Ryan and Brendon don’t actually hurt anyone! But it’s implied that they would have in a Newton’s-first-law kind of way.
> 
> I’ve been editing this chapter, trying to get it just right for over a week, but I still feel meh about the first few scenes. I’m just glad to get this off my chest and move on to the next chapter tbh. I wrote more of my other fic, too, but haven’t finished the whole chapter yet because I've been working on this. 
> 
> That being said, there are definitely some good parts in here, too! Enjoy!
> 
> 7/4/20: Hi! I've made some edits to this chapter to cut down on the angst and make it flow better. One of the later scenes has been almost entirely rewritten, so if you've been reading in real time, give this a reread. 
> 
> Lastly and most importantly, my eternal thanks to Carbon for her help! I couldn't have made these changes without your thoughtful input <3

Effervescent—that’s how Patrick felt the next morning before his brain had even processed the previous night’s events. Patrick rarely met a day with this much enthusiasm, so he was already checking his forehead for a fever when his eyes landed on the leather jacket draped across his dresser. The memory slammed into his consciousness—Pete. He kissed Pete! Or Pete kissed him, really, which was even better. He could be floating on a cloud of cotton candy toward a divine light, serenaded by a chorus of angels, and he wouldn’t reach the peak of ecstasy he was feeling right now.

But then he started to wonder, the string quartet of Patrick’s exaltation coming to a discordant halt. Pete had definitely given the kiss his all, but he’d only done it to quell Patrick’s worries about kissing someone new again. Right? He needed to know, to see Pete for himself and try to read the thoughts on his face that were always so indecipherable to others, but so obvious to Patrick.

It was just a few minutes before eleven, the agreed-upon time for their shopping excursion. But then, Pete had also said something about noon. Pete had seemed eager last night, so on the off chance that he really did mean eleven, Patrick was already behind. He threw on the first clothes he saw, not even checking to see if he’d made a coherent outfit before dashing out of his room.

Pete sat at the kitchen table, scribbling frantically over the pages of a battered notebook. Either he felt inspired this morning or he was plotting the apocalypse. Patrick didn’t mind either way, as long as they were still on level ground. “Writing another love poem?” Patrick teased, testing the waters as he swept past his friend.

Pete scowled at the ink-filled page before him. “Something like that.” He crossed out a few words before dropping his pen and slamming the cover closed on his innermost thoughts. He looked Patrick up and down. “You’re dressed already.”

“Well, _someone_ told me to be ready to go around eleven, so here I am. And guess who’s not ready?” Patrick glared meaningfully at Pete, who sat in a pair of sleep shorts and a t-shirt, his hair unkempt.

"In my defense, I did say that eleven was the goal if we were being ambitious," Pete clarified. "But since you're ready, it seems dumb to make you wait.” He stood up from the table, scooping up his notebook and pen. Pete walked over to the garbage and dug something out of his pocket, turning it over in his hand for a few seconds before tossing it inside the can. He looked up to see a glowering Patrick watching him. “Okay, I’m going, I’m going,” he said with a sigh as he scampered out of the kitchen.

Patrick shook his head as Pete slammed his door shut. Patrick set about making a cup of coffee with the Keurig. The pretentious countertop appliance had been Pete's gift to him last Christmas and was decidedly more than twice the price of what Patrick had given him—a leather-bound notebook with Pete's name engraved. Patrick had felt embarrassed by the inequity of their presents, but Pete had assured him that Patrick's gift to him was four times more thoughtful, which made them even.

Patrick smiled at the memory, wondering how things would change if Pete's plan worked. Would Patrick be sitting in this kitchen with a bed-rumpled stranger some morning, making him coffee with the Keurig Pete had bought him? Would Pete join them to add some conversation and break up the inevitable awkwardness? Would he and Pete even still live together? He filed that last question in a drawer in the back of his mind marked "not safe".

As he turned to throw the used pod into the garbage, some crumpled paper on top of the pile caught his eye. Patrick only felt slightly like a stalker as he leaned over the garbage to see what Pete had discarded just a few moments before. He carefully smoothed out one of the pieces, eyes flicking up to make sure Pete’s door was still closed.

On the paper was one of the phone numbers Pete had gotten last night. Patrick grabbed the other crumpled piece and read it for confirmation. He remembered the hesitant way Pete had turned them over in his hands, like he was making a decision that couldn’t be undone. The papers fell slowly from Patrick’s palm back into the bin. So the guy who had been complaining for days about how he needed to get laid had just rejected not one, but _two people_ who were clearly interested? He remembered vividly what Pete had acted like in the bar last night, the way he’d moved in closer as arms were slung around him, aimed his bedroom eyes at every pretty face that approached until Patrick had to turn the other way.

Patrick’s time to mull that over was short lived as Pete burst from his room like a supernova—bright and untamed. His hair was somewhat greasy, and he’d probably grabbed his shirt right off the floor, judging by the wrinkles. “Okay, I’m ready. Was that quick enough for you?”

Patrick saw Pete as two people at once—the guy who’d put butterflies in his stomach two nights in a row and his snarky best friend. It was hard to know which one he was talking to sometimes.

Pete must have mistaken Patrick’s silence for awkwardness because his demeanor switched from confident to uneasy in a heartbeat. "Listen, um...about last night," Pete said, eyes barely flicking up to meet Patrick's, like he was afraid that if their gazes met for too long, Patrick would see something Pete didn’t want him to. "I hope that was okay with you. The kissing, I mean. I know I should’ve asked you first, but I wasn’t thinking. I've just been pretty, um...horny lately? But that’s still no excuse for taking out my sexual frustration on you every night."

Patrick’s mind replayed the feel of Pete’s lips against his, Pete’s hands on his body. He’d never felt so electrified. His heart wanted his mouth to scream the truth. _No, it’s not okay. Now I can’t even look at you without blushing and feeling my heart beat out of my chest like a schoolgirl_.

But he couldn’t afford to say any of it. He’d just end up spilling his guts, maybe doing something stupid like asking Pete to kiss him again. And that—putting that question out into the universe, offering his heart on a platter for Pete to either cherish or reject—wasn’t something Patrick could risk. Ever. So instead, Patrick fumbled through an answer. "Oh...um, yeah. Don't worry about it. I mean, it's not like you're a horrible kisser or anything." He shrugged awkwardly. “Hey, what about the numbers you got?” he deflected.

“I’m sorry?” Pete tilted his head. Patrick wanted so badly to brush his fingertips over the bit of stubble growing on Pete’s cheek. He curled his hands into fists behind his back to quell the urge.

“The numbers you got at the bar last night,” Patrick clarified. “They both seemed really into you. I bet if you called one for a hookup, they’d clear their whole day.” Patrick knew it was wrong to try to catch his friend in a lie, but he felt so uncertain about where he and Pete stood. This was Pete’s chance to give Patrick just one small token of his honesty to cling to right now, one thing Patrick could believe in when nothing else between them seemed right.

“Nah, they’re not my type at all. I would’ve walked away if I hadn’t been there with you.” And that’s not what Patrick remembered at all. “Besides, it would be really shitty to stand up my best friend for a quick fuck.” Pete brushed past Patrick and slapped his shoulder lightly on his way to the door. He wrenched it open with no further ado. “You coming?” he asked Patrick. He knew it was just another avoidance technique from the master of evasion, and Patrick really wanted to press the issue, but Pete’s eyes were looking into his, so big and beautiful and—damn, Patrick wasn’t strong enough to resist. He nodded and followed Pete out the door, leaving their unspoken secrets locked safely inside.

***

“Pete, it’s great to get a quick start and all, but…I need some sort of sustenance if we’re going on a shopping spree.” They’d left before Patrick had gotten a single sip of his coffee and he was already dragging from the lack of caffeine as he hustled after Pete down the tourist-filled streets.

“Damn, you’re not a cheap date, are you?” Pete gave an exaggerated sigh and made a beeline for the next restaurant he saw.

Pete yanked open the door and held it for Patrick to pass through. Patrick halted. Pete never held doors for him. “Gotta get you used to the proper treatment,” Pete explained. “This door-holding cheesy kind of stuff is classic for a reason, and if a guy can’t do it for at least a few dates, then he’s not good enough for you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick saw people watching him, probably thinking he and Pete were a couple. And he really wished he wasn’t imagining Pete, looking sexy and all dressed up, holding open a door to a much fancier kind of place, watching Patrick with smoldering eyes that hinted at _exactly_ what they’d be doing at the end of the night. “Pete, I appreciate the advice, but can you maybe give it at a time that _isn’t_ mortifying?” Patrick hissed.

Pete didn’t reply, simply gestured for Patrick to walk through.

“Hey, are you going in or what?” asked a group of college kids behind them. “Like, if you’re going to fight with your boyfriend, either do it in line or step aside. We’re hungry.”

Patrick stuttered, looking from the kids to Pete, and finding no understanding of his predicament in anyone. He cast his eyes down and walked through the door, whispering, “thanks, asshole,” at a chuckling Pete, who followed behind him.

It was a Subway. The setup closely resembled the one Pete had worked at when he and Patrick first met. “Feeling nostalgic, are we? Guess the writer’s struggle is starting to take its hold once again,” Patrick said, thinking of the feverish way Pete’s hand had moved at the table that morning. “Are you working on something new, by the way?”

Pete stiffened, eyes snapping up to the menu behind the counter, pointedly avoiding Patrick’s. “Not really,” he said in a clipped tone.

“Hmm, okay.” And where there had been banter and daydreams before, there was now a heavy silence.

Patrick wasn't surprised by Pete's answer. Pete was normally pretty secretive about the content of his writing, but now Pete was lying about writing _at all_ , when Patrick had literally just watched him do it. Add one scoop for Pete dodging Patrick’s questions this morning and two for each romantic move he’d made on Patrick that he refused to explain, and suddenly, Patrick was looking at a heaping sundae of lies.

PeteandPatrick didn’t keep secrets from each other. PeteandPatrick did as much together as two working adults reasonably could. They ate almost all their meals together, watched all the same shows and listened to the same music, and tagged along with each other whenever possible. But now the list of things about Pete that Patrick didn’t know was growing, minute by agonizing minute. Not being able to get in his friend’s head anymore was slowly driving Patrick insane.

Patrick wished for things to go back to how they’d been just last week—his mind hadn’t been preoccupied with thoughts of Pete’s lips and he wasn’t walking on eggshells around Pete, wondering if the next time his friend shut him down would be the beginning of the end.

“Trick?”

Patrick flinched as a hand waved quickly in front of his face. “Wh-what?”

“You look like you’re about to pass out. Let’s get you to a table.” Pete’s amber eyes were full of worry, every trace of the prickly man he’d been a minute ago entirely wiped away. Pete had their sandwiches tucked under one arm, his free hand stretched out to Patrick like a lifeline, his expression sincere as ever.

Pete led him to the back of the restaurant, where he pulled out a chair and steered Patrick to sit on it. Pete looked tense as he took the seat across from him, like he was ready to spring into action at a word from Patrick. “Trick, what’s going on? Are you feeling okay? Like...do you need to go home?”

“I um…I don’t know,” Patrick said, eyes not moving from the crumbs on the table he’d become transfixed by. “Just feeling a little…overwhelmed.” He raked his hands through his hair, tugging on the strands in frustration as they slid through his fingers.

One of Pete’s hands reached out to gently untangle Patrick’s fingers so he didn’t make himself bald. It was warm and would’ve felt comforting on any other day. Right now, it was a reminder of the Pete he loved, who was threatening to slip through his grasp.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Pete asked.

“Yeah, I know,” he lied, still not meeting Pete’s eyes. _But can_ you _tell_ me _anything? Why did you kiss me when you’re taking me out to meet other guys? What are you writing that you need to lie to me about?_ Patrick finally started to unwrap his sandwich, slowly and methodically, just for the sake of doing something. His appetite had vanished.

“Is it the whole dating thing?” Pete pressed. “Because if it is, we don’t have to do it. I was trying to help you, not put all this pressure on you.”

Patrick sighed and took a bite of his sandwich to avoid answering. Seeing Pete’s face fall from the corner of his eye made him feel like an awful friend, but it wasn't like they could have a heart-to-heart about Patrick's feelings in a Subway, of all places. “Pete,” he said, finally looking up, “this isn’t just about the dating necessarily, it’s just…a lot of things, all at once. I know you care, and I know you want to help, but this is stuff I need to figure out on my own.” His tongue felt heavy with lies, but the words were out there. Maybe Pete would believe them. That almost made things worse. He set the sandwich down, feeling guilty.

Pete seized the opportunity to reach out for Patrick’s free hand, squeezing when their fingers entwined. “Anything for you,” Pete assured him, and Patrick knew he meant it. He breathed a huge sigh of relief, his burden a sleeping lion in the cage of his mind now. Hopefully it would hibernate for a while, because if things were doomed to change between them, he deserved one last inarguably good day out with his best friend. Patrick changed the subject to _Star Wars_ for a few minutes, but Pete was still watchful, like he was waiting for Patrick to break again.

“You know you can’t expect me to pretend that I don’t know you’re still feeling terrible,” Pete said, his head tilted thoughtfully. “So I’m going to help you out anyway, in the best way I can, even though I have absolutely no idea what’s wrong.”

“Oh, god,” Patrick said, shrinking back in his seat. He kept his tone light, hoping to send Pete better vibes this time. “Is this gonna be like that time you promised to help me with my resume and then applied to all the jobs I really wanted behind my back by _emailing them your dick pic_ instead of said resume?”

Pete threw his head back in raucous laughter and Patrick felt his tension easing. “Man,” Pete said, trying to catch his breath, “I swear it was a mistake at the time, but I’m coming to think of it as more of a happy accident now. I mean, if you think about it, that was one of our last good moments before…the rough patch.” Pete shook his head like he was trying to shake off his old demons. “We were so clueless. But we got through it, and look where we ended up: we’re still best friends, now we’re roommates, and other than the fact that you occasionally turn into my mom and start nagging me, life’s looking pretty good.”

“You need someone to watch you when your mom isn’t there,” Patrick mumbled.

Pete shrugged. “Fair point. But what I was trying to say was that I think um…recent developments, like your personal crisis at a Subway restaurant, call for a slight shift in plans today.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”

“No ruining the surprise! Now finish your sandwich, Lunchbox.”

“I hate surprises.”

“Eat.” Pete shoved Patrick’s sandwich toward his face, and Patrick grudgingly took another bite, watching the way Pete smiled at him. He really was lucky to have a friend who loved him so much, even if that friend was contributing to Patrick’s lingering uneasiness. He hoped against all odds that whatever Pete was planning would include some relaxation, but knowing Pete, it would involve anything but.

***

“No way, it’s too expensive,” Patrick argued as Pete dragged him into yet another designer store on the Mag Mile.

“It’s my money,” Pete argued. “I got a big fat check from my publisher and I get to decide what I do with it.”

If Patrick got a big check from work, the first thing he’d do is put it in the bank. Where it would be safe until he decided to spend it on _absolutely nothing_ , like any sane, mildly financially savvy person would do. Why Pete insisted on spending his windfall on Patrick was incomprehensible. “I’m going to feel terrible if you spend that much on me. Isn’t there anything you want for yourself?”

“Is it cheesy if I say ‘for you to be happy’?” Pete asked, a dopey grin on his face. He seemed to be enjoying every second of Patrick almost blowing a gasket in a Burberry store.

“Yes!” Patrick hissed. “Now stop it.”

“Okay, but only if you let me buy you this scarf. Every guy who wants to look distinguished and hot needs a Burberry scarf.”

“That is the most materialistic, shallow sentence that’s ever left your mouth,” Patrick accused.

“Please?” Pete whined, batting his eyes at Patrick. “It would look so good on you.”

Patrick folded his arms. “No, and that’s final.” The worst— _absolute worst_ —part of having Pete for a best friend was his unrelenting need for everything to go his way.

“But it would make you happy if you had it. At least try it on? You know you want to,” Pete purred, invading Patrick’s personal space, as he always did. He flashed Patrick a sly smile as he looped the gorgeous cashmere scarf around his neck. And _oh_ , it was so soft against his skin. Maybe…maybe Pete was…kind of right.

“You like it, don’t you?” Pete asked smugly.

Patrick hadn’t even realized that he’d closed his eyes while he basked in the butter-soft texture of the scarf until he had to force them open to see Pete’s satisfied smirk. He felt like he’d been caught red-handed. “Okay, it’s nice,” Patrick admitted, “but I still can’t let you buy it for me.”

It was too late for Patrick’s protests. Pete had already yanked the scarf from Patrick’s neck and snagged one of the snobby saleswomen to ring him up. The way she glowered at Pete’s attire—a too-tight sweatshirt and stained sweatpants—was the only part of this moment Patrick found amusing.

When Pete wandered back over, a pretentious shopping bag in hand that screamed “I have money; please rob me,” Patrick rolled his eyes and resigned himself to spending the rest of the day that was supposed to have been about _him_ however Pete wanted to. Pete linked their arms together and lead Patrick out of the store.

Patrick was back to not speaking, and Pete’s arm stiffened against his. “Trick, you’re not mad at me, are you?”

His voice was soft, like he was genuinely worried, his face etched with faint lines from frowning. Patrick couldn’t upset Pete twice in one day. “Not mad, really. Just…a little annoyed.”

“I’m sorry.” They came to a halt with a large group of pedestrians waiting for the walk signal. Pete loosened his grip on Patrick and faced him now. “It’s just that I finally had a little extra money, and I know if I kept it, I’d just blow it on something stupid. I was planning a big surprise for us around the holidays, like a new TV, but you seemed so upset today that I just wanted to get something for you instead,” Pete said earnestly. “Something that would make you feel special, like a token of my appreciation for everything you do for me. For putting up with me at all, really.” Pete’s words had grown quieter at the end, and Patrick’s annoyance melted into shame and embarrassment. How short-sighted was he not to see that the same fears he was battling were probably affecting Pete, too? Except Pete put his friend’s happiness above his own.

The rest of the crowd surged forward across the intersection as the walk sign flashed, leaving them behind. Patrick was increasingly aware that he and Pete should sit down and have a deep discussion, make sure they were on the same page about everything that was happening, but that would inevitably mean discussing their _romantic moments_. And frankly, given the choice between eating live insects and talking _to Pete_ about his feelings for Pete, at least the bugs could be dealt with quickly...

“I’ll go return the scarf if you really don’t want it.” Pete’s voice echoed through the ringing in Patrick’s ears.

“No.”

“No?” Pete’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Patrick’s hand reached out to grasp Pete’s arm lightly, like a ship dropping an anchor. “Don’t return it, that’s…really sweet of you,” Patrick said softly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so sensitive lately, and I’m kind of embarrassed to say this, but I haven’t considered how that might be affecting you. God, I feel like such an asshole right now,” he groaned, dropping Pete’s arm and rubbing his temples.

“Hey, you don’t ever have to apologize to me, Pattycakes,” Pete said, smiling softly as he pulled Patrick in for a one-armed hug. And just like always, being close to Pete…did things to Patrick. He felt the iciness of his temper thawing with each stroke of Pete’s hand over his back. “This everyday stuff is nothing compared to what we’ve been through,” Pete reminded him. “I know what’s in your heart, and I know you’ll always be there for me; that’s worth a million apologies.”

The musing tone of Pete’s voice made Patrick wonder how long “always” meant to Pete. Patrick knew it would probably last as long as it took Pete to find someone he really wanted to settle down with, but that mushy part of Patrick that he locked away deep inside his heart longed for it to mean “forever.”

“So. Now that that’s all settled, I did promise you we’d get you some new clothes, so where to, Lunchbox? Bloomingdale’s?”

“No way. I refuse to pay those prices, and you’ve spent enough on me today,” he said, wagging his finger at an exasperated Pete.

“Fine, how’s TJ Maxx? Is that enough of a bargain for you?”

“Perfect,” Patrick said. He let Pete lead the way.

When they got inside, Pete wrenched a shopping cart out of the line and made a beeline for the men’s section. Patrick scurried after him, a mere onlooker as Pete flipped through the clothes on the racks, tossing things into the cart occasionally.

Patrick watched nervously, like a parent allowing their child to bake alone for the first time. “Pete, I hate to question your expertise, but like, you’re just randomly pulling things out. Do you even know what size you’re looking for?”

“Yeah,” Pete replied carelessly, “a size Patrick.” He tossed a few more hangers into the cart and headed to the aisle with pants. Patrick watched helplessly as Pete scoured the rack for a good length, an impossible task for someone Patrick’s height at a place like this. Pete eventually threw a few pairs of jeans into the cart and turned to face Patrick. “Okay, let’s go try this all on,” Pete said, aiming his cart toward the fitting rooms and beckoning for the younger man to follow.

Pete followed Patrick into the men’s fitting room, his arms heaped with clothes. “Go to the big one,” he said, gesturing toward the room on their right.

“That’s for the handicapped!” Patrick said, scandalized.

Pete groaned. “Have it your way, then. I’ll just stand in the hallway and wait for you to model for me.”

Patrick felt his cheeks heat up as he yanked a few hangers from Pete’s hands and ducked into the nearest fitting room, slamming the door behind him.

“Hey,” Pete hollered through the door. “What am I supposed to do, just be your fucking servant and hold your clothes?”

“Actually, that would be great,” Patrick called back, shimmying out of his clothes and assessing the few garments he’d pulled in with him. There was a pair of skinny jeans and a couple of t-shirts. He picked a shirt at random and pulled on the jeans. Staring at his reflection, he was shocked by what he saw. “Pete, there’s a problem.”

“What? Did you damage something? Don’t worry, we’ll just put it back on the rack and pretend we found it that way,” he hissed.

“No, it’s just…” Patrick unlatched the door of the fitting room like it was Pandora’s box and stepped into the walkway. Pete was lounging against the door across from him.

“Hey, you look good,” Pete said, smiling approvingly. “So…what’s the problem?”

“These clothes all fit,” Patrick muttered. “They’re not even my size.” How had Pete, of all people, become gifted with a talent of guessing someone else’s clothing size correctly?

“Sure they are,” Pete shrugged. “I checked, and they all looked Patrick-sized. Twirl for me,” he instructed, moving his index finger in a circular motion. Patrick did as Pete asked, feeling exposed as Pete’s eyes raked over his body appraisingly.

“Those jeans are sexy,” Pete remarked. “The shirt’s not that special, but it’s better than what you have at home, so we’ll take it.”

“Look at you, spending my money for me.”

“I’m your personal stylist—that’s what you came to me for.” Pete tossed the rest of the clothes at Patrick, who caught them in a jumbled pile in his arms.

He supposed that weak moment when he’d begged Pete to dress him the night before really was more of a plea for long-term help, especially since their mission wasn’t just a one-time thing. “Okay, you win this round, but—”

“But nothing, Lunchbox,” Pete said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Get back in there and strip.”

“Just so you know, I’d like to flip you off right now, but my arms are full of clothes.” Patrick stomped back into the fitting room, slamming the door with his shoulder, the loud bang reverberating in time with Pete’s cackling laughter.

“Love you, too, Pattycakes. Toss me the stuff you’re getting once it’s off.”

Patrick slipped off the clothes he was wearing and launched them over the top of the room at Pete. “There you go, asshole.”

“Oh, my, it’s a little early to be taking your clothes off for me, but I am a man of weak conviction. I might just have to come in there…”

Patrick flung the door open to see Pete’s face a mere few inches from his own. Pete looked him up and down and there was a glint in his amber eyes that made Patrick tremble. “Gets better every time,” Pete said lowly.

“You like it?” Patrick gestured at the length of his outfit—jeans that were snug enough to shape his legs perfectly without being too tight and a v-neck shirt that matched his eyes. Pete pushed past him into the room, his expression intense and stormy. For a fraction of a moment, Patrick thought Pete was going to close the door and devour him right there in the fitting room, but Patrick wasn’t that lucky. Pete’s attention diverted to the clothes on the hook behind him. He yanked something from a hanger—a vest—and held it out for Patrick to slip his arms into.

The vest fit like a glove. When Pete pulled him into the hallway and pushed him toward the mirror at the far end, Patrick was forced to admit it—Pete had good taste. Well, at least when it came to styling Patrick. Pete’s own wardrobe was a nightmare half the time. “Do you like it?” Pete’s voice sounded almost…husky?

Patrick breathed out slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He scrambled to find something else to say to Pete, so that the air didn’t feel so charged with tension that Patrick wanted so desperately to act on but couldn’t. “Will it work for tonight?”

Pete crept up behind Patrick, resting his chin on Patrick’s shoulder and breathing hotly in his ear. “I mean, if I came across you in a bar looking like this, I’d totally fuck you.” The grip on Patrick’s hip combined with the vibration of Pete’s lips on his skin sent a ripple of pleasure through Patrick’s body that almost brought him to his knees. “Y-you can’t just—Jesus, we’re in a _fitting room_!” Patrick sputtered. He really fucking hoped Pete was distracted enough by his verbal freak-out not to see the reflection of Patrick’s cock twitching in the mirror.

“Oh, don’t get your undies in a bundle, Pattycakes,” Pete said mirthfully. He gave Patrick a smacking kiss on the cheek and backed away. “So are you going to just admit that I’m your new clothing guru or do we have to try on all the rest?”

“Okay,” Patrick conceded with a heavy sigh. “You did do a good job. And this won’t break the bank.”

Pete thrusted his fists in the air and cheered like he’d just scored a touchdown. Someone a few rooms down opened the door and cast them a strange look before hurrying out.

“I think we’re scaring people. We have to leave,” Pete told him.

“No, _you’re_ scaring people,” Patrick corrected him. “But you’re right, we do need to leave. Give me a minute.”

As soon as Patrick locked himself safely behind the fitting room door again, he sent up a silent prayer for this to be the peak of his embarrassment for the day. But then again, with Pete, anything was possible, and Patrick kind of liked it that way.

***

Two more stores and a couple hundred dollars later, the pair were back on the street. Pete was laden down with Patrick’s shopping bags. “It’s part of the Patrick Stump stylist job description,” Patrick had explained as he lined the bags up Pete’s arms. To his credit, Pete had only rolled his eyes in protest and accepted his fate.

They’d left the glamour of the Mag Mile behind. The buildings were older, closer together, and had more character than anywhere they’d been since leaving the apartment. The streets were lined in a jarring mixture of mom-and-pop businesses and fast food restaurants interspersed with old theaters, parking garages, and sprawling public institutions. It was charming and calming and familiar here, surrounded by more locals and fewer tourists. Patrick basked in the feeling, grounded by the nip in the air and Pete’s unusually quiet presence next to him.

“Hmm, what time is it?” Patrick asked.

“I’d check my phone or my watch, but my arms are both currently occupied,” Pete said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Patrick sighed dramatically as he pulled out his own phone. “Well, have you considered growing another limb?” Then he realized what Pete would probably say in response. “Actually, don’t answer that. Okay, so it’s almost 3. Is there anywhere else you wanted to go? Like, I have enough clothes for the next ten years. We should go somewhere just for you.”

Pete made a noncommittal noise in response. Patrick tossed a look over his shoulder at Pete. His heart tugged at the sight of his friend burdened with all of his purchases. Patrick stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and Pete stopped with him, a questioning expression on his face. “What’s up?”

“I didn’t mean to make you my pack mule,” Patrick said, grabbing some of the bags from Pete.

“Lunchbox, it’s okay,” Pete chuckled lightly. “I would carry a thousand shopping bags right now. I just wanted you to have a good day, and I think maybe we’ve gotten there now.”

This was one of those moments when he realized just how much he doesn’t deserve a kind-hearted friend like Pete. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I think we have. But I wanted you to have a good day, too.”

Pete smiled warmly at him, then his eyes darted toward something down the street, his expression changing. “Hey, how does one last stop sound? More for me than you,” he added, seeing Patrick open his mouth in protest.

“Of course.”

Patrick buried his nose in his phone as he trailed after Pete. He flipped through messages and emails, barely registering the chime of a door and the gentle whoosh of the industrial temperature-controlled air, when Pete stopped short, causing Patrick to slam into him. “Ow. What the hell, Pete?”

When Patrick got his bearings and looked up, his jaw nearly hit the floor. “You brought me into a _sex shop_?” he hissed in Pete's ear.

Pete turned around, his eyes crinkling as he laughed at Patrick’s horror. “You know, a lot of people have sex, Patrick. In fact, it’s how we both got here,” he teased.

Patrick covered his face with his hands. Just when he was thinking what a good friend Pete was, he pulled something like this, bringing him to a place that he knew without a doubt Patrick would be uncomfortable.

“Trick,” Pete said, peeling Patrick’s fingers gently away from his eyes. Patrick looked into the face he saw in his dreams and felt his resolve softening ever so slightly. “It’ll be okay,” Pete assured him. “I just need to grab a couple things and then we’ll be out. It’s not like we’re in a medieval torture chamber or something.”

Patrick glanced around the racks and shelves, his eyes landing on items that would definitely look at home in a medieval torture chamber. Pete followed his gaze. “Okay, but that’s beside the point. That’s not what we’re here for.”

“What _are_ we here for?”

The air between them was thick with silence for a beat. “Want to help me pick out a vibrator?” Pete blurted.

“ _What_?!” Pete had had his share of wild ideas, but this was pushing things a little too far. And it wasn't even like Pete was asking for advice about having sex with another person. No, that would be too normal. Pete was asking Patrick to help him pick something to put—

“Earth to Patrick,” Pete hissed.

Patrick snapped out of his moment of frozen internal horror, severely disappointed that this kind of personal crisis didn’t actually suspend time like it did in movies. He’d send Hollywood his therapy bills in a few years. “What?” he said, trying to hold back his annoyance. 

“Can you please stop having a staring contest with that edible panties display? People are starting to notice.”

Oh.

Patrick definitely didn’t want to meet eyes with anyone in here, lest they see the neon sign flashing “virgin” on his forehead, so after the millisecond of a panic attack he allowed himself, he ducked into the aisle after Pete. 

Patrick had thought about sex plenty, but being immersed in a sea of lingerie and condoms and sex toys galore made it much more real. He was certain the items lining the aisles were jeering at him, daring him to look, like Medusa. His chest felt heavy with anxiety, or maybe it was stone—who knew?

Pete came to a halt in front of a wall of dildos and vibrators, ranging from tiny enough to fit in your palm to large enough that Patrick’s insides squirmed. “Here we are—the Great Wall of Cock,” Pete announced, setting their bags down. “Now are you going to help me, or would you rather stand here for twenty minutes while I debate the merits of each and every toy in this aisle?”

Oh, god—no, that would not and could not happen. “Fuck my life,” Patrick muttered as he turned to face the wall of toys. How the hell was he supposed to help Pete pick a sex toy when he’d never used one in his life? He spotted something pink that looked pretty realistic in size and plucked it off the wall. He slapped the package into Pete’s hand. “There. Can we go now?"

Pete sighed heavily, like a parent about to lecture their child on why they had to eat vegetables. “Well, I’ll admit you have good taste, but this,” he explained, holding the toy aloft, “is actually a dildo, not a vibrator.”

Patrick stared at him blankly. “They’re not the same thing?” By the way Pete raised his eyebrow, it was evident that Patrick’s inexperience was showing, and the situation was more dire than Pete had thought. “Oh. I guess not.” Maybe if he clicked his heels together a few times, he’d wake up back in their apartment, this moment either a distant daydream or a complete delusion.

“No worries, Trick,” Pete said softly, laying a gentle hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “I’ll show you what I want.”

And if that didn’t go straight to Patrick’s cock, he wasn’t sure what would. “Wh-what do you want?” Damn his voice for quivering in anticipation.

“God, I’m totally gonna miss you being like this someday.”

“Like what?”

Pete smirked. “A blushing virgin.”

As if on command, Patrick felt his cheeks grow warm. This was turning out to be an even more embarrassing experience than he anticipated.

“Hey, you don’t have to be nervous, Pattycakes.” Pete’s hand stroked Patrick’s cheek, making the younger man go weak in the knees. “It’s just me and you over here,” Pete assured him. “Nobody’s looking or judging.”

Patrick grimaced. “I just feel so…naïve, I guess. There’s all this stuff around us and I don’t have a fucking clue what it is or what it does and there are honest-to-god _teenagers_ who could probably name everything in here. It’s just…it’s a lot. I feel like I fucked up.”

Pete smiled and shook his head, like he thought Patrick was the most adorable mess of a creature he’d ever met. “You’re perfect, Pattycakes, absolutely perfect,” Pete murmured. “And one of these days, I’m going to make you believe me.” Pete’s lips were feather-soft against Patrick’s forehead. “Now, help me pick a vibrator?”

Patrick burst out laughing. “You are the king of bad timing, you know that?”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” Pete said with a wink. He took a couple steps back, gesturing toward the shelves and hooks loaded down with phallic devices. “So the ones that look, well, like dicks—those are generally dildos. The ones that are weirdly shaped, smooth, have buttons on the base—those are the vibrators.” Pete held up a package with a device that was long, curved, and smooth to demonstrate. “Got it?”

Patrick gave a quick nod. “So beyond it being a, um…vibrator, what else are we looking for?”

Pete tilted his head in thought. “I don’t like to do a lot of prep, so nothing too wide. Long is fine as long as it’s not like, ridiculous. Cute colors are always a plus. I don’t know what else—just look around and let me know if you find anything good.”

Patrick eyed the boxes in front of him warily. Some were very unusual-looking, the shapes ranging from a long, ribbed caterpillar-like shape to something resembling a lobster claw that Pete told him was more meant for women. 

Pete pulled down a dildo that could only be described as “unnaturally large" and held it up for Patrick to see. “Dude, can you even imagine?” Actually, Patrick could, and it was making his insides squirm. 

Patrick scanned another shelf, fighting to keep his imagination from running wild as he imagined how each vibrant blue or passionate red would look against Pete's skin. 

Pete snatched another package from the shelf and held it up. It was long, flared at the tip. “This one might work,” he said contemplatively. “Not crazy about the tip though, it’s kinda big.”

Patrick spotted a toy a row above his head that seemed to match the shape Pete was looking for. He plucked the package from its hook and eyed the toy curiously. It was slim and purple, not short, but not remarkably long. Something stirred in him. “Pete,” he said, tentatively. “What do you think of this one?”

Pete came over, two other packages in hand. “Let me see what you’ve got,” he said, shuffling the packages he was holding so he could accept another from Patrick. Pete’s face lit up in a grin as he took in the details of the toy. “It’s perfect,” Pete announced. “You always have known me best.”

Patrick did his best not to preen with pride, but he was pretty stoked that he’d gotten it right. Now he just had to stop seeing a naked, sweaty Pete, writhing in bed as he thrust the toy inside himself on loop in his brain every ten seconds, he thought as they made their way toward the register. 

The lady waiting there gave Pete a smile, which he returned brightly. “Hey, Trick, look at this—you survived your first trip to a sex shop!”

Patrick groaned, feeling like a kid with the most humiliating parent ever. “I swear I’m going to commission one of those airplanes that writes in the sky to put ‘Pete Wentz has a tiny dick’ right over the lake during rush hour.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pete said, rolling his eyes. “You could never afford all those letters. Now go be a dear and catch us a cab. I’ll be there in a minute.” Suddenly, Patrick was laden down with shopping bags as Pete shooed him toward the door.

As Patrick loaded their bags into the cab and waited for Pete, he tried not to stress about the money he’d spent. Most importantly, he did not focus on the gleam in Pete’s eyes as Patrick had shown him the purple toy.

***

Six hours later found Patrick sitting in a booth at a gay bar, glitter stuck to his clothes, sipping on a fruity drink.

“You better make a good effort tonight, Trick,” Pete teased. “I pulled out my eyeliner and girl jeans for this. Can you at least appreciate how uncomfortable it is to fit all of my guy parts in these pants?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Patrick pointed out. “You know, I think you brought me here as an excuse for you to dress up like you’re twenty-five again.”

Pete narrowed his eyes and sipped the last of his beer, slamming the empty bottle on the table. “Can’t say I don’t miss the good old days, but why would I need to be twenty-five again? Life is great right now.”

“You call hanging out in a club on a Sunday night the hallmark of a great life at our age?”

“Okay, maybe not ideal,” Pete admitted, “but definitely interesting. Speaking of interesting things…there’s a guy over there who’s been staring at you.” He nodded toward someone just beyond Patrick’s shoulder.

Patrick turned to see two brunettes seated at the bar, dressed similarly to him and Pete in revealing skinny jeans and tight shirts. The shorter of the two was watching Patrick from the corner of his eye and gave him a playful wink.

Patrick turned back to Pete with a panicked help-me-I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-a-hot-guy look. “Don’t worry, Pattycakes. This is what I’m here for.” He caught the eye of Patrick’s admirer, flashing him one of his signature million-watt smiles, and gestured for him to come over.

“Okay, they’re coming,” Pete whispered.

“They?”

“Yes. He has a friend with him, you have a friend with you—it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know how that works.”

“Is that…okay with you?” Patrick asked, feeling a bit panicky. He hadn’t intended for Pete to get roped into his game with him. He knew Pete was bi, but when it came to sex, Pete preferred being with women—a casual hookup with a guy was more of an exception than a rule.

Pete shrugged. “He’s hot, and besides, nobody said I had to take him home.” He looked up suddenly as the two guys approached, the one who’d winked at Patrick in front with his friend behind him. They introduced themselves as Brendon and Ryan. Brendon slid into the booth next to Patrick while Pete moved over for Ryan to join him.

Apparently, Pete hadn’t been joking when he’d said he thought Ryan was hot. A half hour later, Ryan was practically in Pete’s lap, Pete’s tattooed arm wrapped tight around him as the two giggled in low voices. On the other side of the table, Patrick and Brendon seemed to be in a different universe, Brendon whispering lewd things in his ear and snaking a hand into his shirt while Patrick ignored him and openly gaped at Pete and Ryan. Patrick’s heart sank more with each touch he saw them exchange.

To Patrick’s credit, he’d made sincere attempts to connect with Brendon. They definitely had some things in common, like their passion for music, but Brendon was too bold and wild for Patrick as a romantic partner. Or maybe it was just that there was only enough room in Patrick’s heart for one crazy, unpredictable, beautiful guy, and Pete had already claimed it.

And watching said guy tighten his hold on a stranger’s waist and look up at him the way he should’ve been looking at _Patrick_ was the nail in the coffin of whatever Patrick could’ve had with Brendon tonight. “Listen, Brendon, um…”

“What’s wrong? Jealous?” Brendon’s eyes drifted over toward where Pete and Ryan were nose to nose, seconds from kissing. Again.

Patrick stared down at his lap. He couldn’t stomach watching anymore. “You seem like a nice guy, Brendon. Maybe if things were a little different, we could hang out, see if something happens, but…” Patrick shook his head.

“We could kiss or something, you know,” Brendon suggested in a low voice, wagging his eyebrows at Patrick. “For show, of course,” he added, glancing back to where Pete was engaged in an intense makeout with Ryan.

Kissing Brendon as a cry for attention would be crazy, desperate even. And it probably wouldn’t work anyway. He opened his mouth to protest, but then a thought snagged at his mind. Wasn’t the point of him being here to explore, flirt, kiss? Isn’t that the purpose of him sitting miserably in this bar right now, while Pete gets to second base with some stranger a couple feet away? He smiled at Brendon instead. “You know what? Yeah, kiss me.”

No sooner had Patrick spoken than Brendon’s lips were on his. His kiss was nothing like Pete’s. It was sloppy and quick and probing—a means to an end that Patrick did not want. He broke away from Brendon after a few seconds, feeling cheap and disappointed in himself. He needed…something to wash the taste of Brendon’s kiss from his mouth. He reached for his drink, desperate to chug the whole thing.

Across from him, Pete’s eyes went wide as he pulled away from Ryan’s lips. “Patrick, stop!” Pete yelled breathlessly.

Patrick froze, the glass halfway to his lips. “What, Pete?” he asked sourly. He was so not in the mood to have Pete patronize him after all of the things he’d been doing himself right in plain view.

“Do not fucking drink that,” Pete commanded. His eyes were full of menace, but Patrick saw the flicker of fear underneath.

Patrick set the glass down. “Why not?” Patrick asked, but he had a feeling he already knew.

“Because that dickhead just tried to roofie you.”

Ice crackled through Patrick’s veins as Pete’s words sunk in. Brendon had seemed like such a normal, decent guy. And then he’d tried to fucking date rape him. His head spun with nightmare visions of what could’ve happened if Pete hadn’t somehow been watching. Patrick saw himself unconscious in an alley, Brendon’s clumsy fingers fumbling with his clothes, Pete too preoccupied with Ryan in the bathroom to notice where he’d gone. How lucky he’d been that the universe chose that moment to splinter and send Patrick down the safer path. He felt tears of anger, relief, and fear prickle in the corners of his eyes, but he couldn’t let them escape here, where he still wasn’t safe.

Next to him, Brendon was actually defending himself. “Hey, it was just for a little fun. It’s not like it was going to knock him out.” He was trying to play it cool, but the way his arms were crossed showed Pete was right.

"Right. So, you brought your friend over here to distract me and waited until Patrick's eyes were closed to put something _totally harmless_ in his drink?" Pete challenged. “I’m supposed to believe that?”

Ryan gave an undignified yelp as Pete unceremoniously dumped him from his lap and onto the floor.

“You came in here tonight looking for someone you thought would be easy to take advantage of. You see Patrick sitting there looking all innocent, so you sic your friend on me so he can distract me. Then when he’s not into you, you drug my best friend _right in front of my fucking face_ , and you really think I’m going to believe you weren’t going to drag him off somewhere to do who knows what to him?” Rage was rolling off Pete in waves as he leaned across the table and grabbed Brendon by the collar of his shirt, his lip curled in a snarl Patrick hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Give me the rest of it. Now,” Pete commanded.

Brendon whimpered as he slid his hand in his pocket and dropped a plastic bag of pills into Pete’s outstretched palm.

“Is that all of it?”

Brendon nodded vigorously. His eyes flashed to Patrick. “I—I just, um—"

"Save it, asshole. There’s a special place in hell for people like you, and if you’re not careful, I’ll bring you there personally," Pete threatened. “Thanks to this one,” he continued, pointing to Ryan, who was now standing by the bar, watching in horror at the scene unfolding around his friend, “I know your name, where you work, and the block you live on. One wrong move, you piece of shit, and I will make sure you’re never allowed in a classroom again. Are we clear?”

Brendon was a _teacher_? Someone who was drugging people at a bar would be standing in front of innocent kids in the morning? The air around Patrick felt thick, too hard to draw into his lungs. He looked down and saw his hands shaking. He must’ve missed the rest of the conversation because suddenly, Pete was hauling him to his feet, pulling him against his side. "Come on, Trick. We're going home now," he murmured in his ear.

Pete stopped to talk to the bartender on their way out, holding up the bag of drugs and gesturing toward Ryan and Brendon, who were engaged in a panicked shouting match. Patrick’s ears were ringing. He couldn’t hear a word anyone said.

Seconds later, Pete was guiding him by the hand and tucking him into the backseat of a cab like precious cargo before sliding in next to him. In the relative quiet of the car, Patrick tried to focus his thoughts enough to speak. He had to say something eventually, right? Maybe it would help him process everything. “I…I never thought something like that would happen to me,” he choked out.

“I wish it hadn’t,” Pete said bitterly. “There are creeps everywhere, though. And they can be hard to spot sometimes.”

Patrick felt a hand brush against his. He unclenched his fist so Pete could slide his palm into Patrick’s.

Pete’s thumb rubbed soothing circles into Patrick’s skin, Patrick’s muscles slowly losing their tension under the touch of someone he trusted implicitly. He was with Pete now. Pete was safe. Pete was home. Pete would take care of him. _Always_ , his mind supplied. And Patrick finally understood what it meant. _I love you. I love you more than you could ever know_ , his fingers said as they squeezed Pete’s hand.

Pete’s smile was small, but sincere. He was feeling guilty, like Pete always did when something bad happened to Patrick. As if he were personally responsible for Patrick’s wellbeing.

“How did you even see him do it? I thought you were all wrapped up with Ryan.” Patrick wrinkled his nose in distaste at the memory of that asshole’s accomplice in Pete’s lap, stealing his kisses.

Pete winced like the suggestion of him not caring solely about Patrick was offensive. “Wherever you go, I’m always watching out for you, Patrick.”

Patrick was quiet for a moment, trying to decide how he felt about that statement. From someone else, it might seem judgmental or maybe even weird, but from Pete, someone who had more often been on the receiving end of Patrick’s care, it was earnest, kind.

Pete smiled softly at him as the shadows and lights of the Chicago night danced over his skin, Patrick’s two favorite things fused into one. “Hey, um…would you be up for a stop on the way home? I just thought of something that might make you feel better.”

Patrick smiled. “Sure.”

***

“Are you mad?”

“No,” Patrick said, a wave of calmness washing through him. “I’m grateful.” They stood on the 94th floor of the Hancock building, gazing out at the city and the lake below. They were alone on the observation deck, since it was technically closed for the night. Pete had charmed the staff into making an exception.

Patrick was floating in an endless sea of purple sky and dark buildings, speckled with bursts of light. He should feel lonely right now, but with Pete there beside him, he felt as soothed and grounded as a child being rocked to sleep. His heartbeat slowed. He leaned his head against Pete’s shoulder and Pete’s arm came up to pull him closer. The warm, hard muscles of Pete’s body pressed against his own and he sighed. “I love this city,” Patrick whispered. His eyes were trained on the glittering tapestry of the streets below, but the words sounded more like he was saying them to Pete.

And in this moment, if Pete caught a glimpse of the secret he held in his heart, Patrick didn’t mind.

***

Pete’s shoulder was Patrick’s pillow once more on the cab ride home. Pete stayed quiet, putting on a smile only when Patrick glanced up at him.

When they got upstairs, he could tell Pete was deep in his head, probably replaying every moment of their night, scrutinizing each detail for signs he’d missed. And most likely of all, he was probably beating himself up for inviting the guys over to begin with.

Patrick laid a hand on Pete’s shoulder as they walked through their door. “It’s not your fault, you know,” Patrick told him. “You saved me from drinking whatever he was trying to slip me.”

“Yeah, but if I—”

“No,” Patrick said insistently. “No arguments, no what-ifs. Short of locking me up in a tower like Sleeping Beauty, you can’t make it so that nothing bad will ever happen to me. You _did_ help me tonight, Pete. You kept me safe and you made me feel better, so please, just let me thank you.”

Pete looked like he wanted to argue or at least say something witty in response, but one look at Patrick’s face sobered his thoughts again. “I know, I get it. I just…not everyone out there is like you, Trick. Some people deserve the bad things that happen to them, because they bring it on themselves through the awful things they do. But you? You’re caring and sweet and…” Pete shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. You’re just different. And nothing bad should ever happen to you. Ever.”

The desperate torture in Pete’s eyes said everything he couldn’t out loud. Even if not in a sexual way, Pete and Patrick belonged to each other. Just like watching Pete’s downward spiral and recovery had torn Patrick apart, seeing Patrick in real trouble would eviscerate Pete’s soul. Patrick gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know,” he told Pete, because he did.

Pete brushed a hand awkwardly through his hair. “Hey, um, if you want to, you’re welcome to bunk with me tonight. If it would make you feel better.”

Patrick tried to hide the way his body vibrated with anticipation. He knew the offer was just as much for Pete’s own comfort as it was for Patrick’s. That somehow made it even more enticing. “I’d like that. Let me go change first.”

He scampered off to his room, tossing his clothes off carelessly. He picked his best pajamas (the ones with the fewest holes) and put them on before heading to Pete’s room.

The door was open, revealing Pete clad in just his underwear as he moved around his room. Patrick’s breath caught in his throat.

Pete looked up and smiled at him. “Oh, you’re back already. Let me go brush my teeth really quick.”

Fuck, Patrick hadn’t thought to do that. He almost never brushed them before bed, even though he knew he should. He was pretty sure Pete didn’t normally brush at night, either. Patrick was growing more uncomfortable by the second, wondering whether Pete had a deeper agenda for them sharing a bed tonight. He didn’t have much time to ponder, though, because Pete was out of the bathroom in a blink, shooting him a sly smile as the pulled the covers down on his bed. “Well? Get in,” he told Patrick, nodding at the other side of the mattress.

Patrick watched the bed like it was a snake, waiting for the perfect moment to strike an unsuspecting victim.

“Come on,” Pete urged, making grabby hands at the empty air between them. “I need a Patrick to warm me up.” Pete shivered for effect as he turned out the light on his nightstand, shrouding the room in darkness.

Patrick slowly and obediently lifted the sheet. This could be it. This could be the night something happens between him and Pete, the night the dance ends. He breathed in deeply and took the plunge, sliding in between the soft fabric of Pete’s sheets and covering himself. He stayed decidedly on his own side of the bed, fearful of the vibrating energy this moment held.

"Trick," Pete whispered, a soft laugh penetrating the air, "you don't have to be all the way over there. Kind of defeats the purpose, actually. Get over here so we can cuddle."

So this might not be just a ploy to get Patrick in bed after all. He wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or a disappointment just yet, but he did know he was immensely grateful for the relative darkness of the room. It hid the flush of his skin, shielded the emotion on his face as he moved across the mattress toward where Pete waited for him with open arms.

When Patrick got about a foot away, he stopped. He and Pete had cuddled plenty of times, but not since things had started getting...confusing between them. Every choice he made right now felt so much more significant than it would have been before, and the constant threat of sexual tension was exhausting to keep up with. Should he turn around so Pete could spoon him? Or maybe he would just lie down right here, so they were close, but still a respectable distance apart. And in that split second of hesitation, his chance to make the decision went right out the window when Pete sighed and pulled a squirming Patrick down against him.

Patrick fidgeted for a moment before settling down comfortably, one leg tangled with Pete's. His head rested on Pete's tanned chest. He gave a contented sigh as Pete's skilled fingers drew patterns lightly across his back. “Good?” Pete asked.

“Yeah. The best.” Patrick nuzzled against Pete, letting the steady beat of his friend’s heart spread through his soul like a lullaby. The moment Pete carded his free hand through Patrick’s hair, Patrick felt himself falling, falling toward somewhere soft and safe to land.

Pete didn't kiss him tonight, and Patrick didn't need him to; sleeping in the arms of someone who cared about him was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we could be seeing some sort of smut as early as next chapter, depending on how dirty I end up making this fic. I’ve written ahead a bit, and some of those scenes felt kind of...shameful to write, so I’m still trying to decide how much of it should be posted. Any larger pieces I leave out might end up in a general dump of “deleted scenes” if you will. Anybody feel strongly one way or the other?


	4. Voyeurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick could walk out of this room right now, leave the notebook where he’d found it, and know he’d never have to feel guilty.
> 
> But then...what if Pete needed his help and this notebook was the key? What if Pete was on the edge of the cliff and time was running out? He’d been there before, to that dark, lonely place. Patrick had nearly lost him to it once. And maybe this time, Patrick wouldn’t get him back. _Don’t make the same mistake twice_. The thought stung as it pierced his heart.
> 
> Eyes stinging, hands shaking, heart clenching, Patrick flipped the notebook open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo sorry this has taken so long for me to update! I've been very busy behind the scenes, though! I started feeling kind of meh about the last chapter, so I decided to start going back through this fic and editing it more.
> 
> For those who’ve been reading in real time, you might want to reread the first chapter and chapter three. I’ve added like a thousand words to the first chapter. It’s largely the same, but there’s a better internal monologue from Patrick as well as changes to the dialogue; I just wanted to give a little better characterization and connect the dots more. Plus, I’ve made some edits to chapter three as well to cut down on the angst and I rewrote the sex shop scene. 
> 
> Last, but far from least, shoutout to the lovely [Carbonbased000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carbonbased000/pseuds/carbonbased000) for seeing my vision for Ch. 3 and helping me get there! And then holding my hand through the epic mess I made of this chapter, which would have been full of out-of-character moments and awkward scenes without her unwavering patience, support, and advice. You are invaluable and most definitely a mind reader 💖💖
> 
> As for this chapter, it's super long and Patrick finally gets some much-needed (solo) action. And if you’re still reading this note, it’s time to reward yourself with a giant helping of sexual tension, awkwardness, and secrets! Enjoy!

Some people lived and breathed their passions; Patrick took that saying a little further. He ate, slept, bled, and cried music. By fifteen, he’d mastered twelve instruments, burned through every record store within a fifty-mile radius, and landed a full scholarship to Columbia. _He’s a prodigy_ , they all proclaimed. And with every note he wrote, every concert he played, his dream of becoming a composer grew closer to reality.

Then he’d dropped out of college a year shy of his degree. His dreams dissolved in a blur of time clocks, fake smiles, and temperamental customers as he struggled to make ends meet.

Until one fateful day, when he’d been walking home from work. The skies had opened up and _poured_ right onto his beleaguered soul. He’d stumbled toward the nearest open door for refuge. Once he’d shucked a layer of water from his lashes, he looked around in disbelief at his personal utopia—an old music shop.

Dozens of instruments lined the walls. Records spanning decades sat arranged in neat files on wobbly antique tables. Everything else was stacked haphazardly on two rows of worn bookshelves. Combined with the store’s crumbling façade, charmingly creaky floor, and mildly musty smell, Patrick had been sold. He’d signed the papers and donned a nametag in a heady daze, feeling like things just might turn out okay.

Last year, when Patrick had finally felt the weight of the keys in his hands as he unlocked the front doors— _his doors_ —by himself for the first time, the shop transformed into his haven. Patrick immersed himself in his passion—running the store, teaching classes, stealing an hour here and there to compose a few pages of a song he’d never be forced to play live. He had everything he needed. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Each morning when he crossed the threshold of his store, the familiar atmosphere would envelop him like a long-lost friend. This morning, though, that feeling was drowned out by his ambivalent emotions.

Precisely forty-two minutes ago, Patrick had woken up in his best friend’s bed. His heart had pumped wildly as he’d taken in the comforting warmth of a muscled arm thrown over his waist, Pete’s soft breath tickling his skin, Pete’s _bare chest_ so close he could almost taste the ink-stained skin.

The previous night had flashed through his mind—his own burning jealousy, Brendon’s luring smile. He’d been playing with fire, about to dive headfirst into the flame. And then Pete had ridden in on his white horse, whisking him away from danger and bringing him somewhere safe and warm.

Pete had looked so young, so vulnerable as the light of the early morning sun peeked through the curtains. It hadn’t been so long ago that Patrick was the one doing the protecting. In that perfect little moment, Patrick had wanted to badly to let even a sliver of his passion roam freely in the cocoon of smooth sheets and warm skin, press his lips to Pete’s, whispering the tender words he was afraid to speak too loudly. Would Pete have pushed him away?

Patrick would never know. He’d slipped from Pete’s embrace and fled the apartment like the hounds of hell were chasing after him. He _wanted_ Pete—of course, he did. But he was so afraid of screwing things up that he couldn’t take the chance. _Someday, I’ll tell him_ , he’d thought as he locked the apartment door behind him.

Now Patrick roused the store from its own sleepy state, the dim fluorescent lights and secondhand registers reluctantly humming to life. He felt their pain. His body was pulsing with the urge to ditch work and crawl back into Pete’s arms, confess the secret that was eating him alive. He could wrap himself up in Pete and, for a solitary stolen moment, pretend he and Pete were each other’s.

 _But you_ are _Pete’s_ , his mind argued unhelpfully. Pete’s words from the cab last night echoed in his head. _Wherever you go, I’m always watching out for you, Patrick_. Pete might’ve meant them in the moment, but would he still if he _knew_? Patrick rubbed his temples. It was too early in the week for this kind of mental torture.

Patrick fumbled his way through his Monday morning chores, dropping toilet paper in the toilet, forgetting his password five times—the kind of mistakes that would normally send his Type A personality into panic mode. When his head salesperson, Mikey, walked in an hour later, Patrick nearly kissed the ground. Mikey was an intuitive guy. He didn’t bat an eye when Patrick snuck away to the back office to “reorganize tax files”—whatever the hell that meant.

By the time his office door clicked open, Patrick had lost count of how long he’d been sitting on the dull tile floor, his back aching while his eyes bored through the same stack of paper. “Mikey, can you hand me that stack on the table?” he asked.

A beat of silence. No papers inked with meaningless numbers in unnecessarily small font appeared. Instead, a bag smelling of fried, carb-loaded deliciousness materialized in front of his face. Patrick’s mouth watered. “Oh my god, _lunch_!” he cried, sending papers flying as he scrambled to his feet, lunging for the bag. As quickly as the food had appeared, it was snatched away to the sound of a laugh he’d know anywhere. Patrick spun around, heart pumping faster. “Pete? What are you doing here?”

“Just thought you could use a treat,” Pete said with a shrug. The unspoken “after last night” hung in the air and Patrick nodded slowly in understanding. Last night had been tough for Pete, too. He’d felt personally responsible for the Brendon drama, for putting Patrick in a situation like that in the first place. He stood by dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, and judging by his hair, he definitely hadn’t showered. Patrick frowned.

“Are you ready to eat, or…”

Patrick redirected his attention to the bag and his eyes widened. “You got me Shake Shack? This is precisely why you’re my favorite person on the planet.”

“Only the best for you, Pattycakes. You’re my favorite person, too.” When Pete smiled, Patrick finally saw the cracks in the façade, the haunted look from last night seeping through in a way only someone who knew Pete better than Pete did would notice. Pete could fool a lot of people, but no one would ever see him as clearly as Patrick.

***

They ate lunch in relative silence at Patrick’s desk, Pete perched on the edge, swinging his legs as Patrick’s Spotify played softly in the background. “I have a class in a few minutes,” Patrick said. He shoved the last few bites of his burger into his mouth, crumpling the paper and tossing it into the trash can.

“What kind?” Pete asked, cramming a few of Patrick’s leftover fries into his mouth. “Want me to stick around for some free labor?”

Patrick wrung his hands together. The last time he’d been in the music room was Friday, mere hours before the fateful party. He never could’ve guessed what the next two days would hold—kissing his best friend, his first adult store, almost being drugged. To be tossed back into the swing of normal life after all of that made Patrick feel like he’d just gotten off one of those spinning teacup rides. Maybe the normalcy of having Pete, his rock, by his side would set the world right on its axis again, even just for an hour.

“Yeah, I could use a hand if you’re free.” 

Pete snapped his fingers. “Look at that—my afternoon is clear,” he said, his smile dazzling this time as he hopped off Patrick’s desk. Their hands brushed, a tingle of electricity passing between them. Patrick itched to grab Pete’s hand, feel its warmth in his own. _Not now_ , he chastised himself. _Not yet_. He led Pete into the music room where students were just starting to assemble.

Patrick greeted everyone and introduced them to Pete. This wasn’t Pete’s first time guest starring in Patrick’s classes, so some students smiled and waved at him in recognition. Patrick blushed as he realized they probably thought Pete was his boyfriend or something. What he wouldn’t give for that to be true…

Patrick did a quick demonstration of the piece they’d be practicing today, feeling the weight of Pete’s watchful gaze on his back as his fingers strummed out the notes. Ordinarily, he never worried about how he and Pete interacted together. They were affectionate, maybe a little tactile for two guys who were friends. But to have an audience watching, judging, _assuming_ the one thing Patrick would give his life’s fortune to have come true—well, it made his skin prickle, to say the least.

And that’s why as soon as he’d finished, he practically dropped the guitar like a hot potato and ducked off to the side where he’d pretend to observe his students. Everyone in the room knew that he’d be openly staring at Pete instead. His efforts at instruction were notoriously futile when Pete was around, which probably wasn’t doing anything to squash suspicions of his and Pete’s relationship status.

Patrick sank further into the wall, feeling refreshed by Pete’s thrumming energy as he wandered through the rows of seats. Pete corrected a student’s posture here, adjusted another’s hands there, joked around with them in a way that was so endearingly _Pete_ that Patrick had to physically attach his hands to the wall to avoid flinging himself into Pete’s arms.

And that’s when Patrick noticed something: Pete was smiling. It wasn’t forced or fake or fleeting. He seemed _genuinely happy_ in a way he hadn’t in…come to think of it, it had been a long time since Patrick had seen Pete smile like this—vibrant, open, carefree.

How was this the same Pete who’d sat gloomily at the table yesterday as he scribbled in his notebook? Patrick flipped through memories of Pete over the last few weeks like an intracranial scrapbook—Pete on the balcony at the party, looking weary and desperate; the rapid subject changes whenever Patrick raised a personal question; the winces as he declined every call from his family and friends. And now he was spending all of his time and money on Patrick, like it was valueless to him, like he knew he wouldn’t have any use for it...

A cold uneasiness dropped into Patrick’s stomach. Fuck. The fact that he was only noticing now because Pete _actually looked happy_ made Patrick burn with shame. What else had he missed? He ran through the list of warning signs the doctors had made him memorize, his heart clenching with each box he checked and relaxing with each one he skipped. 

The results were split in half. Maybe Patrick was overreacting. Pete could just be having an off week or month or however long. Maybe he just needed some time to himself to recharge.

But Patrick also remembered how quickly things like this could get out of hand. His mind flashed with images of a younger Pete in a hospital bed, withering like a flower plucked from its life source and left without water. _No_. He couldn’t watch that happen again. He’d _promised_ himself, promised Pete.

He watched as Pete picked up a bass and started strumming along with an older gentleman, who smiled and laughed as Pete started messing around. _I love you_ , Patrick thought. _I’ll protect you._

Patrick’s phone buzzed, jolting him out of the nightmare visions in his mind. Pete was playfully glaring at him and waving him out of the room. “I’m going, I’m going,” he muttered, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind him. When he finally saw the number, he nearly fainted. It was Pete’s therapist.

“Hello?” he asked, pressing the phone to his ear with shaky hands. 

“Hi. Patrick?” said a smooth, professional voice.

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Is um…is everything okay? Like, obviously Pete’s not in danger; he’s literally in the next room, so uh…what did you need to talk to me about?”

“Oh, he’s _with_ you?” She sounded surprised. “Interesting…”

“Well...we're best friends and we're roommates. We're together all the time,” Patrick said, feeling confused. 

“I just meant it's interesting that you're with him _right now_ ,” she explained. “This is the second appointment in a row that Pete hasn’t shown up for.”

A cold feeling trickled down Patrick’s spine, like ice water. “What do you—” Patrick huffed a sigh, the fingers of his free hand twisting in his hair. The last time Pete had started skipping his appointments—well, Patrick would never forget that phone call. The burn of years-old tears, his pulse as fast as a hummingbird’s wings as he nearly flew to the hospital, the ache of his hands as they gripped the cold metal doorway like a life preserver, his heart cleaving in two when a weak voice called out his name—the memories swirled together in Patrick’s mind, creating the perfect storm. 

No. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against the lids, willing the discomfort to force him awake. No such luck. “I don’t mean to be rude, but...why are you calling me and not Pete?”

Her voice was hesitant, concerned. “Pete won’t answer my calls—and as of today, not my texts, either,” she told him. “You’re the only personal contact I have for him, so you are the only way I can verify if he is safe.”

“W-what makes you think Pete wouldn’t be safe?”

There was a pause on the line. “I can’t say much without Pete’s permission,” she continued in a quiet voice, “but at our last visit a few weeks ago, Pete was…disengaged. He seemed unusually stressed and he wouldn’t talk about what was going on.”

“I see.” Patrick paused, his mind spinning with possibilities. “What am I supposed to do, though? Drag him back to therapy?”

“Well, I can’t force someone to come to therapy or to talk about something they’re not ready to address. But considering Pete’s history, and what I know of his recent behavior, it’s my obligation to ensure that his life is not in danger and to take any precautions necessary to do so.”

Patrick was silent for a moment, taking in the woman’s insinuations. He didn’t know what the right thing to do for Pete was, but he did know that whatever was wrong with his best friend wouldn’t be improved by a police interrogation. Or a visit to the psych ward. “I’ll vouch for him,” Patrick said. “He’s safe. If he displays any suspicious behavior, I’ll take him to a hospital,” he said, the words burning his throat like bile as he spoke.

“Patrick,” she said, like she was trying to get his attention.

“What?” he snapped.

“I was just going to say, you may want to check to see if he’s been taking his meds. Do you know where he keeps them?”

“Yeah,” Patrick answered weakly. Thinking of the pills made his stomach turn. If he didn’t get off the phone with her soon, he’d be cleaning vomit off the screen.

“Make sure you see the pills yourself. Steal the bottle and count them out, if you have to. Don’t just take his word for it. If he’s not taking them, you’ll need to confront him about it. And please, please promise me you’ll talk to him about going back to therapy. If he’d rather see someone else at the practice, I can make recommendations.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye.” Patrick’s body was numb as he ran down the hall and into his office. He slammed the door behind him, trying to steady his breathing as he slid down against the wall. 

His hands were shaking as he buried his face in them. Fuck fuck _fuck_. He’d known Pete wasn’t at his best, but he hadn’t imagined things were this bad. Patrick counted backwards from ten in his head, slow, deep breaths matching the pace for…five minutes? Ten? Time seemed to have come to a halt, but his heart was still beating wearily on. He willed it to be stronger, strong enough for both him and Pete. Because Pete was going to be okay. Pete _needed _to be okay, and Patrick would make sure of it.__

****

Patrick had to move quickly. On the way home, Pete had taken a detour to grab takeout from their favorite restaurant (their unspoken agreement on this being a night in) and sent Patrick back to the apartment to relax and pick out a movie. Patrick’s immense guilt over using his “relaxation time” to snoop through Pete’s personal things was eased only by one reassurance: he was doing this for Pete. He repeated it in his head like a chant to combat each flicker of doubt.

He crossed Pete’s room to the nightstand where Pete normally kept his pills, his footsteps falling like lead blocks, and settled on the bed. The bed. He patted the soft sheets that were still unmade, where Pete had held him close all of last night into this morning to make sure he was safe. Patrick bit back an emotion he didn’t want to name as he yanked open the top drawer.

There were a few prescriptions Patrick didn’t know about, but he shoved them aside, searching for the ones he wanted to see. He sighed with relief when his eyes landed on the right bottle. His sweaty fingers closed around the plastic and pulled it out of the drawer. He rolled the bottle in his hands for a moment. This was an invasion of privacy, no doubt about it. Just because Pete’s therapist was concerned didn’t mean Pete was actually skipping his meds. Maybe he just didn’t like her anymore and didn’t want to tell her anything about his life.

But what if she was right? With a heavy sigh, Patrick squinted down at the label. It was dated five days ago. His tension lessened. If that didn’t indicate Pete taking them, he didn’t know what did. Still, he opened the bottle and counted out the pills, hoping he didn’t reach thirty. He reached twenty-eight. Well, what kind of person waited to pick up a refill until they took their last pill? Not even Pete was that irresponsible. Maybe things weren’t as bad as Pete’s therapist was making them out to be. He knew they weren’t out of the woods yet, but his shoulders sagged with relief as he dropped the bottle back into place.

Just as he was about to shove the drawer closed, a flash of perfectly stacked spiralbound paper in the corner caught his eye. Patrick’s hand froze. Pete’s journal.

Pete used writing as a form of catharsis, injecting little pieces of himself into everything he created. He guarded those pieces carefully. Yesterday, though, his protectiveness had been dialed up, he’d curled around the notebook like a mother protecting her young. Pete was _hiding something_ in those pages. Something personal and vulnerable that might just be the key to his behavior.

Patrick’s fingers closed tentatively around the smooth cover, like he was expecting the drawer to morph into the Mouth of Truth and bite his betraying hand off. When nothing happened after a beat, he drew the notebook out, laid it on his lap. Did he have enough time? He sent a meaningless text to Pete. A quick response would mean he was still waiting, anything else meant Patrick had to be ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Pete’s writing was the one thing that was off limits, even to Patrick. He could steal Pete’s debit card and overdraw his account buying a thousand dollars’ worth of Beanie Babies and Pete would just grumble about it. But if Pete walked through the door to find Patrick reading his raw, unfiltered thoughts, the essence of his heart, their trust would shatter on the spot. Was it worth it?

Patrick watched his phone from the corner of his eye as he slid shaky fingers over the cover, along the edges of the pages. He knew he had a good reason—a selfless, loving, concerned reason—to be here, committing an untrustworthy act against his best friend, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness. Patrick glanced at his phone again to see no new notifications. Pete was probably already on his way back. Patrick could walk out of this room right now, leave the book where he’d found it, and know he’d never have to feel guilty.

But then...what if Pete needed his help and this notebook was the key? What if Pete was on the edge of the cliff and time was running out? He’d been there before, to that dark, lonely place. Patrick had nearly lost him to it once. And maybe this time, Patrick wouldn’t get him back. _Don’t make the same mistake twice_. The thought stung as it pierced his heart.

Eyes stinging, hands shaking, heart clenching, Patrick flipped the notebook open. Thumbing through the first few pages, he skimmed through scribbles. His eyes flicked back to his phone. Still nothing. Pete could be in the elevator right now, a mere minute’s distance from where Patrick was sitting in his room, reading the words his heart had written. He scanned the pages rapidly, his brain attaching to little snippets.

> _I'll be as honest as you let me  
>  I miss your early morning company  
>  If you get me  
>  You are my favorite "what if"  
>  You are my best "I'll never know"_

As their unexpected meaning sank in, Patrick’s brain skidded to a halt. These were the words of a broken heart—longing, desperation, regret. But there was also affection, admiration, and love. The emotions ran deep, the words on the page worming their way into Patrick’s heart, grabbing hold, and _twisting_ brutally.

His eyes skimmed over the remaining pages, finding more of the same. The puzzle pieces clicked into place neatly: Pete’s preoccupation with Patrick’s love life instead of his own, his refusal of hookups, his heart-wrenching words spilled onto the pages Patrick was reading.

Pete was hopelessly in love with someone—someone whose rejection was causing him unbearable pain. Patrick closed the notebook with a keen sense of remorse and carefully stashed it back in its hiding spot.

The front door clicked open. Fuck! He snatched his phone and leapt from the bed, his heart pounding a mile a minute.

He’d gotten the notebook away before Pete saw him with it, but the door to Pete’s room was visible from the entire living area. Patrick didn’t stand a chance in hell of sneaking out unnoticed. He needed an excuse. Fast.

He’d just positioned himself at Pete’s dresser, quietly yanking a drawer open and digging around to make it look like he was searching for something when Pete’s voice drew nearer. “Trick? Where are you?” Pete passed by on his way to Patrick’s room and doubled back when he saw Patrick standing there. Patrick hadn’t had a chance to put much thought into his position, so he probably looked really suspicious.

“Hey, I was just coming to tell you I’m home,” Pete said casually, walking into the room and flopping down on the bed. “Are you looking for something?”

“Y-yeah, I, uh…I was,” Patrick said. And goddamn his guilty conscience for making this so agonizingly awkward. He’d rummaged through Pete’s room without him being there a million times and he’d never been outwardly nervous about it. “A shirt,” he managed. “I wore it last week and I couldn’t find it.”

Pete was watching him closely, skepticism plain on his face. Patrick’s palms grew sweaty as Pete’s eyes trailed around the room. His gaze landed on the nightstand, where— _shit_ , Patrick had left the drawer slightly ajar. Pete raised an eyebrow, but his expression was amused.

“You know,” Pete said, rising from the bed and slowly ambling over to Patrick, “if you wanted to borrow some lube, you could’ve just asked instead of being all paranoid about it.” Pete leaned over his nightstand and tugged the drawer open. Patrick stood by bewilderedly as bottles of varying sizes and shapes were thrust into his arms. “That should get you started,” Pete said with a smile as he slammed the drawer shut again. “Let me know what your favorite is and I’ll buy you a bottle. Have fun, Tricky.” Pete’s knowing smile stuck in Patrick’s mind as he staggered out into the hall.

It wasn’t until he’d retreated to his own room with an armful of half-used lubes that he realized something: it hadn’t even occurred to Pete that Patrick would snoop through that drawer for his notebook. He’d thought Patrick was there to steal _lube_ for crying out loud. Where the hell had he gotten that idea?

Patrick dumped the bottles on his nightstand, feeling dazed. He needed a moment to process the revelations of the notebook and the pile of sex supplies littering his furniture before facing Pete for the rest of their planned movie night. He collapsed onto his bed and flung his arms out, jolting when his hand brushed against something foreign. Plastic? Like a package?

Patrick propped himself up for a better look at the offending object and his mouth dropped open in horror. Nestled proudly in the center of his bed like a goddamn birthday present, adorned with a curly pink ribbon and a handwritten note, was the little vibrator he’d helped Pete pick out yesterday. Patrick groaned internally. _Of course_. The vibrator had been for _him_.

He glanced back at the lube sitting suspiciously by his bedside and the lightbulb clicked on in his mind. Oh, _god_. Pete thought Patrick had discovered the toy and was snooping around for lube so he could—

His face was surely red enough to justify a new Pantone color called “permanently mortified”. He reached out for the package shakily, detaching the note from the ribbon.

> Patrick,
> 
> I know you don’t think you’re ready yet, but sometimes life’s greatest gifts come when you venture outside your comfort zone. Hope this keeps you company until you find that guy who gives you butterflies all over. Enjoy.
> 
> —Petey
> 
> P.S. Please don’t be scared to try it. I promise it’ll be okay.

The fucker had even drawn a _heart_ after his name. It took a moment to reconcile his sweet, meddling friend with the Pete whose tormented thoughts he’d just snooped through. Pete’s heart was wounded, but he hid his pain from the world, only allowed it to bleed behind closed doors, into a notebook he kept tucked away so no one would know.

Pete’s heart was the one that needed comfort and healing, but instead he was diverting all of his efforts toward Patrick’s. Patrick was struck by the sudden urge to go up to Pete and wrap his arms around him, protect him from the world, like Pete had done for him last night.

In his mind, he saw Pete waking up this morning, quickly building a fortress of crumpled paper around his room in his quest to find just the right words, then tying them on with a fucking pink ribbon. Patrick pictured the giddy smile on Pete’s face as he’d tucked the vibrator carefully into Patrick’s bedding, his heart full of hope before dashing out the door to surprise Patrick with lunch. And then he’d shoved aside his own priorities at the drop of a hat, just to spend more time with Patrick. Patrick tucked the note into his nightstand for safekeeping. _Later_ , he promised himself. _Think about it and talk to him later_.

His heart was reeling with an overflow of love and passion. His body craved somewhere to direct every pent-up feeling that was bubbling up in his chest and…other places…. He turned to the vibrator, eyeing it warily. Pete had left it there for him to try, right?

Patrick closed the door quickly and hurried back to the bed. He ripped open the packaging and ran his fingers over the smooth silicone, infinitely grateful that he’d chosen one of the smallest toys in the store. But now he had to _do something_ with it.

Should he google porn? He pictured Pete walking in on him lying there half naked, his eyes glued to a moaning laptop screen while he pressed the vibrator inside himself. Patrick shuddered in horror. Best to keep this as quick and simple as possible.

He set the toy beside him with a bottle of Pete’s borrowed lube and slid off his boxers. His cock came to life easily under his practiced touch—a tight grip, twisting on the upstroke, a swipe of his thumb over the sensitive crown. This, Patrick knew how to do. He’d done it a thousand times, right in this bed, the thought of Pete just on the other side of the wall pushing him over the edge. All he had to do was add in one more element. Piece of cake, right?

Patrick picked up his pace, unlocking the door in his mind that hid away his fantasies. In swarmed visions of Pete, like always—the crinkles around his eyes that Patrick wanted to kiss, the lips that melded with Patrick’s so perfectly, the tingly sensation whenever Pete’s skin brushed his. Patrick sighed contentedly, his fingertips trailing lightly over his chest. His eyes fluttered shut as he pinched a hardened nipple, tugging gently, like he imagined Pete would do. "Oh, P—"

Patrick bit his lip harshly to cut off the moan. He rubbed and pulled at the sensitive buds until his veins buzzed with the sensation. Pearly white fluid was leaking from his tip now. He imagined Pete leaning in, lapping it up with his warm tongue, firm hands holding Patrick’s hips down as he squirmed. “Fuck,” he panted. He could _almost_ feel the tight heat of Pete’s mouth enveloping the head of his arousal, sucking gently before taking him down, down—“Ungh!” Patrick groaned, stroking himself faster.

Patrick’s spare hand searched for the lube bottle. He was as ready as he’d ever be when his legs fell open tentatively, lube-coated fingers wandering down to a place he’d never properly been touched before. When he closed his eyes, he saw Pete above him, warm honey eyes full of yearning, kiss-bitten lips whispering the words he needed to hear. _“Relax, baby. I’m gonna take care of you. I promise.”_ A gentle finger eased inside him, the slow, shallow movements keeping the burn at bay and turning the pleasure up, just the way he knew Pete would do it.

When he felt the first nudge against that spot deep inside, he arched his back, biting his lip against a powerful moan. He felt the ghost of Pete’s kiss from a few nights ago, imagined the whispers of encouragement in his ear, the brush of Pete’s fingers against his forehead, smoothing his hair back. _”Patrick. My Patrick. You’re doing so well….Can’t wait to be in you.”_

 _Fuck._ Patrick had never physically _needed_ to experience something as badly as he needed Pete right now, but all he had was the vibrator. It would have to do. He coated the toy liberally with lube and placed it just at his entrance with a shaky hand. With a deep breath, he pushed it in.

In his mind, the toy became Pete's cock, thick and warm and throbbing as it breached his body, burning slightly before giving way to a sensation that made him tingle from head to toe. Pete's soft lips were on his neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin as he pushed in between whispers of "I love you." Because why not? This was Patrick's fantasy; he could make it as unrealistic as he wanted.

If only Pete were really here, letting Patrick show him how he felt. Letting Patrick touch and kiss, then taking over and—

"Ngh!" The cry of pleasure ripped itself from Patrick as the vibrator roared to life inside him. His whole body shuddered. If he didn’t slow things down a bit, he’d come in ninety seconds like a teenager. He fumbled with the controls blindly, trying to turn it down. Instead, the pulses of the toy grew more intense. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

He was so close. He shut his eyes and imagined Pete over him, inside him, his amber eyes clouded over with a hungry look as he leaned in to whisper in Patrick’s ear. _”Come for me, Patrick. I know you want to.”_

There was nothing Patrick had ever wanted to do more. But he realized as he careened toward a peak of pleasure that he _absolutely_ could _not_ allow it to happen. He’d done some downright humiliating things in his lifetime and bounced back, but screaming his best friend's name during an orgasm as said best friend stood just twenty feet away was not something Patrick’s dignity could survive.

Patrick released his grip on his cock, letting out a wanton cry at the loss of sensation. He bit his lip to swallow back his noises, took a deep breath to steel himself, then started withdrawing the still-vibrating toy carefully, aiming it away from his prostate.

"Patrick?"

The cataclysmic end of Patrick’s life began like this: his hips jolted in panic, the vibrator rammed into his prostate, and his mouth opened in an honest-to-god wail that sounded unmistakably, damningly like Pete’s name.

Patrick snapped his mouth shut and held his breath. All it would take was one wrong move and Pete would hear EVERYTHING as Patrick came like the pathetic, overstimulated virgin he was. And so, Patrick lay in his bed, muscles clenched painfully in an effort to hold off his explosive orgasm as nightmare scenarios played out in his head. The frantic beat of his horrified heart was the only proof of his continued existence.

"Patrick, are you okay?" Pete’s voice grew closer. The door handle turned.

“Wait!” He yanked the toy out from between his legs and tossed it on the bed next to him, still vibrating. The discomfort was better than the mortification of Pete walking in to see him with a vibrator up his ass.

Patrick was flooded with relief when he saw that the door remained closed for the moment.

“Patrick…” Pete trailed off. A beat of silence. “It’s okay. I…I obviously know what you’re doing—I _gave_ you the damn thing. I didn’t mean to um…overhear…but you didn’t sound like you were…enjoying the experience.”

Oh, _fuck_. Patrick wished a satellite would drop out of the sky and land right on his bed. “It’s too much,” Patrick croaked out. “I can’t do this.”

Patrick heard Pete’s heavy sigh through the door. He wondered if it was guilt over making Patrick uncomfortable or just that thinking about Patrick’s romantic life reminded him of his own tortured heart. “I—this is really weird just talking through a door. Can I come in, or…” Pete let the question hang in the air.

Patrick turned the vibrator off and stashed it in his nightstand drawer. He hastily pulled the sheets up over himself. “Yeah, come in,” he called, his voice a little shaky. His face flared up with heat like a teenager caught mid-wank by their mom as Pete slowly swung the door open. He watched Pete wander in, cautiously approaching the other side of Patrick’s bed like he was waiting for Patrick to approve or bar his entrance.

Patrick nodded slowly, his heart dropping into his stomach like a block of lead. Pete was climbing onto his bed with him _while he was still half naked under the covers_. The lines were blurring between fantasy and nightmare as Pete settled on his side about a foot away. Pete was watching him now, his expression as gentle as his voice as he said, “Hey.”

“Hi,” Patrick managed. He looked away quickly. Playing with the finished edge of his sheet was a lot less risky than looking back into Pete’s eyes. He couldn’t let Pete see how desperately he yearned to touch, to devour. “Why do people like doing this?” he asked. It was just as much of a mental distraction as it was a legitimate question.

“Using sex toys, or…like, butt stuff?”

Patrick covered his face, going from embarrassed to flatlining in half a second. “Both?” he squeaked. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. He wished Pete could just _know_ without him having to explain it.

“Did you…not like it?” Pete ventured. “Having something like _there_ , I mean? Maybe you’re more of a top.”

“Oh, god.” Patrick squirmed. This was like when he came out to his mom and she turned it into a talk about safe sex. “I can’t believe I’m trying to explain this to you.”

Pete laughed, closing the distance between himself and a struggling Patrick. Patrick eventually relented, allowing Pete to pull him in so they were pressed together, his waning erection dangerously close to brushing Pete's thigh through a few layers of fabric. The younger man burrowed into Pete's chest, hiding his face. “No, um…I liked it…a lot,” he said to Pete’s left nipple. “Like _too much_.”

“Hmmm. Maybe you’re just a little sensitive. Kind of a personal question, but…do you ever put anything…”

Patrick pulled back enough that he could see Pete’s face with one of his eyes. His expression must’ve shown his confusion, because Pete elaborated. “Like your fingers?”

“Oh! No, I…I tried to once,” he admitted, “but I was pretty young, and I didn’t know about lube, so it was just a mess and it hurt a lot. After that, I just didn’t try again.”

Pete’s eyebrows reached toward his hairline. “You’re being serious?” Patrick nodded. “Damn it,” Pete said, his eyes big and sincere. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just given you something like that and assumed you’d know what to do with it.”

Patrick shrugged meekly. “I kind of figured it out eventually.”

“Maybe you should try it without the vibration on. Just get used to the um… _intrusion_. See if you can come like that a couple times and then start turning it on.”

Patrick stared at Pete, unblinking.

"Do you need me to show you?” Pete hedged.

Patrick’s eyes widened. “No! I mean…God, this is really weird. I should be figuring this out by myself.”

"Hey, it's okay.” Pete ran his hand soothingly over Patrick’s back. “Nobody learns this on their own, Trick. I’m not as much of an expert with guys as I am with girls, but I know enough to help you. So…if you have questions about like, um, how it all works, now’s the time to ask me.”

Patrick died a little more with each word that left his friend's mouth. He pinched his leg to make sure he wasn't living in some twisted dream world. His skin throbbed in agreement that he was, indeed, completely fucked. “Pete,” he said, his voice shaky, “I–this is too awkward. I’m just not ready to talk about sex stuff with anyone yet.”

“I get that you're nervous and I don't want to freak you out. But I just want you to know you can always talk to me, Patrick,” Pete said warmly. He squeezed the arms he had wrapped around Patrick’s middle for emphasis and stared into Patrick’s eyes like he was waiting or searching for something.

This was it—Patrick’s chance to reclaim the moment from this morning, to pull Pete close and just kiss him to see what would happen. Patrick gathered up his courage, looking into his friend's warm amber eyes. Pete cares about you, he reminded himself. You might freak him out, but you won't lose him forever. He leaned in closer to Pete. Pete's eyes were widening in shock and he froze as a determined and terrified Patrick drew nearer. He felt the warmth of Pete’s breath on his face, counted the colors in his eyes.

"Yo! Pete, Patrick. Where are you guys?"

Patrick dropped his head against Pete's chest, trying to make the movement seem smooth and intentional rather than what it really was: Patrick losing his nerve as reality dropped back into place around him. He couldn't kiss Pete right now. If he did, it would destroy him, either with fervid pleasure or insurmountable pain. And that wasn't something they could work through while Joe and Andy sat on the couch.

Pete's muscles were tense, his touch distracted, less affectionate than normal as he patted Patrick’s shoulder lightly. Then Pete was pulling away. "Gotta go be a good host." His tone was clipped as he rose from the bed like he couldn't think of anywhere he wanted to be less than right here, holding his half-naked best friend. "Take your time coming back out, Patrick," he said as he closed the door behind him.

Patrick pressed his face into the pillow, hoping it would absorb his tears and maybe, if he were really lucky, suffocate him. He'd screwed up and made things awkward between them and it was all for nothing. The worst (or maybe best?) part was that they were entertaining friends, so there was no way for them to talk about it.

Fully dressed and cock flaccid again (though his balls felt heavy, achy from not getting to come), Patrick snuck past his friends, whose gazes were glued to the TV, and into the kitchen. Joe and Andy had annihilated most of the food Pete had left for Patrick, but he managed to scrounge up an egg roll and some fried rice to snack on.

When he walked into the family room, plate in hand, Joe and Andy were in a pile on the floor while Pete sat on the couch, nose buried in his phone. Joe and Andy each gave him very distracted greetings as Patrick took a seat on the couch. He prayed he’d struck a good median between creating distance and looking desperate.

With each minute that ticked by, Patrick noticed the movie less and less. He watched Pete from the corner of his eye, silently wallowing over the object of Pete’s affection. Was it a woman?...a man? Did they know how lucky they were to have Pete Wentz falling all over himself in love for them? Did they know how Pete felt?

Patrick thought back to that moment this morning, the way the soft light had kissed Pete’s skin as he stirred in his sleep, his arm slung around Patrick. Pete had just wanted a warm body to press close to, to pretend, in that hopeful, gullible state of sleep, that rather than Patrick, he’d held his long-awaited lover in his arms. If he’d kissed Pete like he’d been so desperate to, and Pete had kissed him back, someone else’s name on his lips…

Patrick would’ve shattered like fine crystal. His heart had become such a shrine to Pete—every facet of his complicated personality, each little crinkle around his eyes, every single thing on this planet that made Patrick think of Pete, all painstakingly catalogued and locked behind glass for safekeeping—that Patrick wasn’t sure it had room for anyone new. How was he supposed to date someone else, go to bed with some poor guy who might actually like him, knowing he’d only be thinking of Pete?

Pete’s mission needed to stop before Patrick broke his own heart and maybe someone else’s with it. He’d have to tell Pete. Not how he felt about Pete—no, Patrick would rather remove his own eyes with a hot poker—but that he had his heart set on someone. If Pete pressed him about it, he’d pretend to go on dates and then the magical boyfriend would vanish after awhile and normalcy would resume.

Patrick nibbled quietly on his egg roll while he watched Kylo Ren build up his superiority complex. Joe and Andy were preoccupied. Pete was right there, completely available to talk to. Although he hated to miss _Star Wars_ , he had to put his heart first, and here was a golden opportunity.

He caught Pete's eye easily from the other end of the couch and flicked his gaze toward the kitchen. Pete nodded his understanding, making to get up. Patrick’s heart raced. It would be okay. He’d figure this out—how to tell Pete he was falling for someone without doing something horrifyingly stupid, like kissing Pete or asking Pete to marry him or falling prey to any of the awkward scenarios his mind was churning out.

Patrick braced himself to stand, rehearsing the words in his head. _I met someone. I want to see what happens. I don’t feel comfortable going out to bars to keep looking for guys until I know for sure._ He had it all planned. This would be fine. Painless.

And then Pete’s phone rang. Pete looked at the screen and his eyes widened in anticipation.

"Dude, are you gonna answer that or do I have to throw it out the window?" Joe griped.

"We're trying to watch a movie here,” Andy chimed in.

"Yeah, because you've never seen _Star Wars _before," Pete said, rolling his eyes. But for all his bravado, Patrick could see his uneasiness.__

____

____

He mouthed his apologies to Patrick, his amber eyes sincere as he ducked into his room, murmuring into his phone while Patrick sat on the couch like a forgotten toy. Pete had ditched him, and for his crush, no doubt. Patrick was seconds from swan diving into a pool of self-pity when Andy took the seat beside him on the couch. "Hey, Patrick."

Patrick’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, unable to fathom why Andy would start a conversation with him in the middle of _Star Wars_. "What's up?"

Andy cast a nervous look toward Pete's door. "Listen, um...I don't know what's going on with you and Pete, but like...things seem a little weird. Is he okay? Are _you_ okay?"

"Yeah, I think so." Patrick really did need to talk to someone, but it wasn't fair to involve Andy and Joe in PeteandPatrick drama. He'd hoped Andy would get the message, but the other man just kept staring at him, eyebrow raised until Patrick gave in. "Okay, fine,” Patrick whispered. “So...remember the party last week, when Pete and I got into a fight? Ever since then, things have been...off."

"Off? How?" Joe had joined in now, all three of them huddled on the couch while they openly ignored a loud space battle behind them.

Patrick hesitated. He couldn't tell them about the kissing. Or the vibrator. And he absolutely couldn't mention the extravagant scarf. Best to stick to the platonic issues until Patrick had some bearings on the rest. So he told them all about Pete’s mission to help him get laid and about Pete’s own odd behavior.

"Wow, I wish somebody would help me get laid," Joe chuckled. Andy smacked him on the arm.

“That is really unlike Pete, though, to pass on an easy hookup,” Andy remarked.

“I kind of have a theory about this all, though.” His eyes flicked toward Pete’s door. He could just barely hear the low murmur of Pete’s voice, and it made his stomach turn when he tried to fill in the blanks. “I was going to try to talk to him, but then he got that call and walked away. Do you think he’s like, heartbroken, maybe, and he doesn’t want to talk about it?”

Joe and Andy turned to each other and shared a look for a few seconds, a message passing between them that made Patrick feel uncomfortably oblivious. They turned back to Patrick, seemingly in an unspoken agreement. “That does add up with the writing and ditching the hookups,” Andy said. “The Pete I know will take anybody when he’s single, but when he’s stuck on someone, well, he becomes completely devoted. Even if he’s not actually with them, that person he’s fixated on has his heart, his time, his undivided attention.”

Patrick nodded, memories of Pete’s previous infatuations coming back to him. Pete in love was quite a force to be reckoned with. He shouted it from the rooftops, paraded his lover around like he was the luckiest man on earth, and spent every spare moment with them. Even if it took a while to win his lover’s heart, Pete had always involved Patrick from the moment he set eyes on someone, shown him pictures, dragged him out to meet them, talked Patrick’s ears off about them. But this time was different…

“Hey, has he mentioned anyone to either of you?"

Andy took a sudden interest in his fingernails. Joe looked like a deer caught in headlights as he stumbled through an answer. “Um, well—"

Pete’s bedroom door clicked open and he walked back out to the awkward scene of his three friends huddled together, looking slightly panicked at his reappearance. He narrowed his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yep,” Andy chirped. “Just talking about the movie.”

Joe and Andy slowly broke away from Patrick and drifted back to their respective places, leaving the gears in Patrick’s mind turning in suspicion. Pete shot them a curious look before he took a seat on the couch a foot away from Patrick. Pete seemed calm on the surface, but Patrick could spot the anxiety bubbling up underneath. He scooted toward Pete. “What was that about?” he whispered.

Pete flicked his eyes toward Patrick briefly. “Nothing.”

Two could play that game. Patrick stood, empty plate in hand, and strode toward the kitchen. He’d barely gotten his dish set in the sink before he heard Pete’s footsteps.

“Hey, can I come in?” Pete said gently.

Patrick nodded slowly, and Pete settled about a foot away, not saying anything, but watching him closely, like he was lost and Patrick’s face was the only map in existence. Pete looked tired, like all he wanted to do was crawl into bed. If it were just the two of them, Patrick would go turn off the movie and pull Pete into his room, hold him all night like he’d done for Patrick the night before.

“Really, is everything okay?” Patrick asked, propping himself against the counter.

Pete nodded absentmindedly, his fingertips kneading his temples to ease his tension. He went to the fridge and pulled out a beer, popping the cap off and holding it out to Patrick. Patrick shook his head. Pete shrugged and took a swig before answering. “Nothing’s _wrong_ , exactly. I’m just stressed is all.” When his eyes locked on Patrick’s, he gave the younger man a crooked smile as reassurance. It made Patrick’s heart melt a bit, but it didn’t convince him of anything. “I’ll take care of it, Trick. It’ll turn out okay.”

Patrick felt the words forming on his lips just as Pete placed his finger over Patrick’s mouth, holding his questions in. "You're worried about me, huh?" Pete said, frowning. "I promise you that if there's something important for you to know, I'll make sure you know it."

"Okay," Patrick said slowly. He wasn't sure if Pete would follow through on that promise, but he knew Pete meant the words in the moment he spoke them.

Before he could settle on something else to say, Pete broke into his thoughts. “Did you, um, manage to finish what you were doing before?”

Right. The vibrator incident. Patrick felt the color rising in his cheeks as he turned his gaze to the floor. “Uh, not exactly.”

Pete stepped in closer, slinging his arms around Patrick’s neck. “Well, you know, not everybody comes their first time. Don’t be embarrassed,” he murmured. He craned his neck up to press a kiss to the top of Patrick’s head.

“Oh, I’m not just embarrassed. I’m going to _die_ of embarrassment,” Patrick promised as he buried his face in the soft fabric of Pete’s t-shirt. He breathed in that quintessential Pete scent that curled around his heart and lingered there, pumping feelings of comfort into his veins.

“Don’t let a vibrator be the thing that kills you,” Pete whispered. “I wouldn’t be able to resist telling the story at your funeral and forever tarnishing your legacy.”

“Oh god, please don’t do that.”

“I can’t if that’s not how you die,” Pete pointed out.

Patrick sighed, pulling back from Pete’s embrace slightly. The older man’s eyes were full of mirth now. Patrick had done that. He felt redeemed. “Okay, I’ll try… _it_ again.” He bit his lip for a moment. “If you promise me that you’ll ask me for help if you need it.”

“Always,” Pete promised without hesitation.

And there was that word again—the one Pete had mentioned yesterday. Patrick wanted so badly to ask what it meant to Pete, but he was too caught up in the look in Pete’s eyes. It was a mixture of affection and sadness and…hope? Pete’s arms were still wrapped loosely around Patrick, their chests close but not touching. Patrick could feel Pete’s warm breath on his face. Was Patrick crazy, or was this his third chance today to get this moment right?

Patrick took a deep breath. He was going to do this. He was going to kiss Pete and Pete was going to kiss him back and a miracle would happen and everything would be okay. He reached up to cup Pete’s face in his hand, sliding his fingers down so he could pull him in by the chin—closer, closer—

And that’s when fucking Joe walked in. He didn’t even batt an eye when he saw Patrick and Pete locked in an embrace, which was making Patrick question a lot of his relationships.

“Hey, guys,” Joe said. “Just needed another drink.” He grabbed a can from the fridge and quickly left the room.

As soon as Joe disappeared, Pete started chuckling, leaning his forehead against Patrick’s. Patrick eventually joined him in his laughter. If he wasn’t careful, it would turn into sobbing and tears. How many times could he endure the disappointment of not getting to kiss Pete, not feeling Pete’s lips conform to his own, missing out on the tingling sensation of Pete’s breath against his mouth?

Pete pressed a chaste kiss to Patrick’s cheek before pulling away. He didn’t know he was taking Patrick’s hope with him. "Come back and watch the movie with me? We can cuddle, just the way you like," Pete offered.

All things considered, the night ending surrounded by friends while he and Pete curled up on the couch together wasn’t such a bad thing. Patrick nodded, following Pete back into the room where their friends were watching another battle with rapt attention.

Pete slid down onto the couch, positioning himself perfectly for Patrick to curl up in the Patrick-shaped space next to him. When Patrick dropped into place beside Pete and felt how easily their bodies melted together, he couldn’t help but feel like they were meant to be here together. But then Patrick thought about the notebook and Pete’s hopeless words about the person whose affection he so desperately craved but couldn’t have. Goosebumps ran up his spine and he shivered. Pete took it as a cue to pull Patrick in closer, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders and drawing the shorter man into his warmth.

Patrick snuggled into Pete's side, Pete’s grip tightening for a flash of a second. He glanced up at Pete, whose eyes were glued to the screen, despite having every line memorized. He watched fascinatedly as a succession of emotions played out over Pete’s features, and suddenly Pete’s expressions became a movie of their own. It was far more interesting than the one on their TV.

Pete seemed to notice. “You okay, Trick?” Pete whispered.

“Never been better,” Patrick answered, the words ringing true. In that moment, he had everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm…I wonder what’s really going on with Pete. Any guesses? 😉
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next chapter, things will start to get angsty.


	5. The Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their faces were close, their hearts beating in perfect rhythm together. Patrick stared back into Pete's eyes, saw his own fear and uncertainty mirrored there. Except Patrick didn’t want to be afraid anymore. The only thing he wanted—now, then, ever—was Pete. So Patrick kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's a little sooner than I expected, but here we are with chapter 5! Just some forewarning: there's a bumpy ride ahead for at least the next few chapters, so get your seatbelts on!
> 
> And thank you to [Carbonbased000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carbonbased000/pseuds/carbonbased000) for helping me see where this chapter could go! <3<3<3

“Why does it have to be another bar?” Patrick sighed. He stared judgmentally at the reflection of his less-than-enthusiastic face in the ornate glass door as if to say it was his reflection's fault that they were here tonight and not his own. “I thought you said this was only temporary?”

“It’s the last one, I swear,” Pete reassured him. “Then it's time for the big leagues—crashing weddings and stuff.” 

Patrick knew it was a joke, but he felt too hollow to laugh. He'd never gotten to follow through with his plan to call this whole charade off. Every time he tried to talk to Pete, the stars would realign to halt the words just as they were poised on Patrick's lips. So when Pete came into his room and announced they were going out, Patrick had just resigned himself to his fate and let Pete dress him up like a Barbie doll. And sure, he might've looked the part in his tight pants, hair artfully mussed, lips blotted with Pete's cherry Chapstick—"My secret weapon for irresistible lips," Pete had with a conspiratorial smirk as his fingertip ran over the lines of Patrick's lips until Patrick had been on the brink of sucking it into his mouth—

but he felt like a total imposter, a two-dimensional image of a very different Patrick taped to his face. His body tingled with anxiety at the thought of going inside and having to play this game, like he wanted anyone other than the man whose head came to rest on his shoulder in the shiny glass. Patrick looked away.

Pete’s hand squeezed his other shoulder in a gesture of comfort and Patrick felt his tension let up just a bit. “I won’t let you out of my sight tonight,” Pete whispered. “Nobody’s going to hurt you, I promise.” 

Safety wasn't Patrick's main concern tonight, but it was certainly on his list, so he was grateful that was all Pete's best friend senses had detected. He turned to look at Pete directly for the first time and noticed the guilt in his eyes, thinly veiled by determination. Pete was already his very own living, breathing guardian angel, but judging by the set of his shoulders and the way he shielded Patrick from every passerby, he was promoting himself to Patrick's official bodyguard tonight. Patrick forced a smile and reached for Pete's hand, squeezing it lightly. “I know,” he said. _I love you,_ he added in his mind.

“You ready?” Pete’s other arm was halfway around him, rubbing that spot between his shoulders that always turned him to putty. Which was exactly what was happening right now. Patrick's insides were turning warm and gooey, like a fresh-baked cookie. _One last night,_ he told himself. With Pete by his side. 

“Okay, let’s do this,” Patrick said, straightening his shoulders in an attempt to feel as confident as he sounded.

Pete slung his arm fully around Patrick's shoulders as he made to reach for the door handle. Then he stopped, watched Patrick carefully for a moment. "You know, I have a feeling tonight will be the night, one way or another." When his lips grazed Patrick’s cheek, the usual brashness of the gesture was replaced with a gentle hesitance so unlike his and Pete's normal interactions that Patrick did a double take to make sure Pete hadn't been replaced with a stranger midtouch. But all he saw was his Pete, bright smile back in place as he ushered Patrick inside.

The bar was old, classic—dark wood and low lighting with an antique feel. If it hadn’t actually been a speakeasy a century ago, then the owners had sure done their due diligence to make it seem authentic. Patrick instantly felt at home. He relaxed into the soothing old-timey Chicago atmosphere he loved as his eyes flicked over the groups, and, okay, he knew that not every gay bar was full of glitter and drag queens, but he'd at least expect some subtle pride flags or something. “Is...this a gay bar?” he muttered to Pete.

“Um...no. And I know what you're thinking, but the gay bar didn’t work out how I’d planned,” Pete said tightly. 

Okay, Pete had a point there, but... “How am I supposed to know if a guy I meet is, um, into guys?”

Pete barked out a laugh as he pulled Patrick through the crowd toward two empty barstools near the far end of the impressively long bar. “Trick, people don’t go to bars to meet new friends. So if some guy comes up to you, it’s safe to assume he’s interested."

Patrick hopped on the stool next to Pete, mulling over how exactly he’d gotten himself here, sitting in an old speakeasy with his best friend, who he was head over heels for, while said best friend tried to help him get laid by someone he hadn’t even met yet. Fuck, he was too sober for this internal battle. He signaled the bartender to grab them both beers. 

Once the cold bottle was in his hand, he chugged half in one go, downed the rest when it still hadn’t kicked in after a few minutes, all while a wide-eyed Pete watched.

“Hey, you’ve got to relax, Lunchbox.” Pete’s hand trailed from Patrick’s cheek down his neck, lingering on the Burberry scarf Pete had insisted Patrick wear. “You look hot tonight, if that helps,” he said absently.

Patrick’s face felt flushed. Whether it was from the alcohol roaming his veins or the effect of having his long-time crush compliment him, he couldn’t tell anymore. That must mean the alcohol was working. Maybe he'd get embarrassingly drunk and Pete would be forced to pack him into a cab before he'd even talked to one guy. “If you say so,” he mumbled at Pete.

“I know so,” Pete assured him, a sad kind of fondness dancing in his eyes as he watched Patrick. He frowned as Patrick went to signal the bartender for his third beer twenty minutes in, capturing the younger man's raised hand in his own. "Let's slow down a bit," Pete said gently. "The bar won't go anywhere if we walk away for a few minutes. Wanna have some fun?" He nodded toward where a few couples had gathered, swinging each other around to the beat of some song Patrick vaguely recognized from the radio.

Patrick wasn’t much of a dancer, but who in their right mind would turn Pete Wentz down for a dance? He took Pete’s outstretched hand, his heart fluttering rapidly like a junior high kid at his first school dance. And as he followed Pete onto the dancefloor, Patrick knew he’d follow Pete straight to the ninth circle of hell, if it came down to that.

Just as they'd picked a spot, the song changed to something up tempo. Pete kept what was just barely a respectable distance as he swayed his hips to the beat, but if Patrick was going to be stuck in a bar, looking for a guy he didn't want to meet, with a dancing Pete next to him, well, he needed more. He turned directly toward Pete, moving in just enough for Pete's leg to brush against his, and was rewarded with a crooked smile and a come-hither look as Pete closed the gap even more. “You should dance more, Tricky, you look hot,” Pete said in his ear, his warm breath tickling Patrick’s neck in a delicious way that made the younger man's eyes roll back.

God, it felt so overwhelmingly good to be so close to Pete, touching him less like a best friend and more like someone he could take to bed tonight. He just wished he didn't need the excuse of alcohol in his system to do it. 

And if the way his pants felt a little too tight was any indication, it seemed like Patrick’s cock echoed his sentiments. Fuck, if Pete kept this up, the problem in Patrick’s pants was going to be very apparent to everyone in the room. But Pete just slowly edged himself closer until his thigh was between Patrick's and his arm was draped around Patrick’s shoulder and the smoldering look he gave Patrick would've brought Hugh Hefner to his knees. It was like he fucking knew what he was doing to Patrick and they were suddenly engaged in a public PG-13 battle of seduction. 

Someone nearby whistled at them and Pete’s eyes flashed with mischief. His face was flushed and his smile was so wide and daring as he looked at Patrick that Patrick was _this close_ to just saying “fuck it” and pulling Pete in so they were pressed together from head to toe—

And that’s when the song changed again, the slower, softer tone with its dash of country snapping Patrick out of his lust-induced trance. When he stepped back awkwardly, Pete didn't seem to notice. He just grinned as the opening chords played and recognition dawned on his face.

> _You were in college working part-time waiting tables_
> 
> _Left a small town, never looked back_

Something in the room shifted as the couples around them shuffled a little closer, some exchanging slow kisses. Patrick froze and looked at Pete hesitantly. They couldn't slow dance to a Taylor Swift love song together and then walk away pretending they were still just friends. Pete had to know that. But Pete simply held open his arms. “You’re not getting out of this that easily, Pattycakes. Come dance to some T Swift with me!”

Patrick choked on his laughter as his feet, seemingly of their own accord, propelled him closer to Pete. Pete was wrapped around him like a koala by the time the chorus kicked in. He hid his face in Pete’s shoulder at first because it seemed so cheesy to be dancing with Pete to a _Taylor Swift song_ , of all the music in the world. But then he heard the last line of the chorus like he was hearing it for the first time. _You are the best thing that’s ever been mine._

The words struck a chord in Patrick's heart, because the best thing that had ever happened to him was in his arms right now, swaying with him to the beat of a cheesy love song, and suddenly spending his night dancing with his best friend in a random bar with a bunch of strangers wasn’t strange at all. Because it was him and Pete, and nothing between them could ever be weird or wrong or too much. 

_Flash forward, and we're takin' on the world together_. Suddenly, Patrick was travelling backward through time, watching as he and Pete piled moving boxes into their new apartment, feeling anew that rush of adrenaline as they naively decided they were "adults" now. _You learn my secrets and you figure out why I'm guarded._ Even when the world around them was unraveling, they faced it all together. Patrick held onto Pete a little tighter as Pete hummed along to the next lines about endless bills and having nothing figured out.

 _And I remember that fight, two-thirty a.m. 'Cause everything was slipping right out of our hands. I ran out, crying_. The memory slammed into Patrick like a Mack truck—the machines beeping in time with Pete’s heart, the repugnant antiseptic smell—details that would follow Patrick to his grave. 

_Braced myself for the goodbye. Then, you took me by surprise, You said, "I'll never leave you alone"_ —and Patrick’s eyes stung with tears for everything they’d gone through together, but more than that, tears of relief that they’d made it here, to where he was holding Pete close and even though things weren’t perfect, in this very moment, Patrick had everything he could ever want. 

And it struck him right in the heart that even when Pete had wanted nothing more than to leave this world and all its nightmares behind, he’d fought through the darkness and stayed. For Patrick.

Pete’s hand touched his face so softly that at first Patrick wasn’t sure it was really happening. But then Pete was whispering his name, soft and tender, and he just had to open his eyes. When he did, he saw Pete's warm honey gaze glistening back at him. It took Patrick a moment to realize that they’d gone still while everyone else kept dancing around them as though nothing had happened, like his and Pete's love for each other had transcended both time and physics, granted them their own little moment of solitude to look and feel and bask in the glow of their shared affection privately. 

_We're gonna make it now. And I can see it. I can see it now._ The damn in Patrick's brain just broke, because really could see it, being with Pete as a partner, not just a friend. And there Pete was, clinging onto Patrick, caressing his face with a look in his eyes that—fuck, it was so vulnerable that Patrick almost felt like he shouldn’t be seeing it. But it filled Patrick with a wild hope that maybe Pete could see their future together, too.

Their faces were close, their hearts beating in perfect rhythm together. Patrick stared back into Pete's eyes, saw his own fear and uncertainty mirrored there. Except Patrick didn’t want to be afraid anymore. The only thing he wanted—now, then, ever—was Pete. So Patrick kissed him.

Pete gasped for a fraction of a second before he started kissing back, and when he did—fuck those people who talked about fireworks, this was a goddamn apocalypse of joy that made every atom in his body dance in rapture. Just like every other time, their lips fit together like they were made to interlock forever, and Patrick was one-hundred-percent sure his mind and all other parts of his body were running on autopilot because he didn’t have the first fucking clue what he was doing except praying to whatever was out there that the world would end and fossilize him and Pete just like this, preserved forever in the perfect moment. _Please let him be mine_ , Patrick begged. _I’ll never need another thing in my life if he can just be mine_.

Patrick didn’t get a chance to finish his plea. He’d barely gotten the exquisite taste of Pete on his tongue when Pete broke the kiss, staggering back, panting. _Nononono_ no, Patrick cursed in his mind. He yearned to pull Pete back in, freeze time so that one glorious moment would continue for the rest of eternity. He almost did.

But then he saw Pete’s face. Pete looked pale, like he was going to be sick. His eyes flicked down and away from Patrick. His hand felt heavy with weariness when he placed it on Patrick’s shoulder, and Patrick felt like a child being doled out a punishment. This was the moment that would change everything between them, and not for the better. “If you—um, if that’s how you really feel, Patrick, then I think we need to have a talk.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuck. The last few minutes had been the most magical of Patrick’s life. How the fuck was everything suddenly going wrong? And the wary way Pete was looking at him—he was going to break Patrick's heart right here, right now, if Patrick didn't say something to stop him.

“It’s not,” Patrick blurted out, even though that was about as far from the truth as polar bears were from the Caribbean. But it didn’t matter what was true right this second, because he’d be damned if the best relationship he had ended like this, _in a fucking bar_. “I just—I got caught up and I—um, I didn’t mean to,” he stammered out.

“Oh,” Pete breathed.

Patrick watched with bated breath as a carousel of emotions played out over Pete’s face. Shock. Bewilderment…Disappointment? Patrick wasn’t ready to dissect Pete’s full reaction right now, though. His brain was too full of flashing red lights and warning bells to think of anything beyond damage control. “I’m sorry. Look, let’s just forget this ever happened, okay?” Patrick stared at the wall, his feet, the weird stain on the floor—anywhere but directly at Pete. “Can we do that?”

“Patrick,” Pete pleaded. And Patrick looked up to see Pete’s caramel eyes that he adored were wide and troubled and it was all his fault; it felt like a punch to the gut. “I...” Pete let out a shaky breath. “We really do need to talk. About some things. But like, I have to…” he gestured vaguely in the direction of the restrooms.

"Yeah," Patrick said agreeably. "Totally." He nodded like he meant it, but his heart was tearing in two, a Pete-shaped hole forming in the corner marked "love" as he watched Pete practically jog toward the bathrooms, like he couldn’t wait to get as far away from Patrick as possible.

Patrick stood there watching after him stupidly for a moment before his senses returned to him. And when they did, the room was spinning and his head was full of nightmares. He sat down at the barstool and pulled out his phone, feeling the weight of his world crashing down all around him like a house of cards. _God, what have I done? How the hell am I going to fix this? What could Pete possibly have to say to me?_ His mind raced through scenarios of Pete trying to break it to him that he’d started dating someone or that he wasn’t interested in Patrick like that before he got so overwhelmed he made himself stop. Bottom line: the exact words didn’t matter.

Pete didn't want him. Would never want him. And sure, living with that knowledge wouldn't change much on the surface, but in Patrick's heart the knife just twisted deeper.

With every passing second, though, the realization loomed larger that if he ever wanted relief from the agony in his heart, he couldn’t keep hiding the truth from the person he loved the most. Patrick had been skirting around awkward moments and suffering through his yearning for so many years and it was finally catching up with him. Everything hung in the balance right now, and if he wasn’t careful and open and honest with Pete, things would spiral even further out of control, rotting their effortless care and affection from the inside out until it turned into something bitter and ugly and so unlike the dream Patrick had in his head that if he had more alcohol in his stomach, he would surely be retching over the bar right now. 

He needed to take control. He should go look for Pete, tell him the truth. Every gritty detail, no matter how much further it would drive the knife into his own heart to say the foolish words aloud to Pete. 

And then, he’d give Pete an out—an out from their home, their relationship, whatever he needed. Because Patrick couldn’t fucking live like this anymore, and if he was going to spend the rest of his life in hell, watching Pete fall in love with whoever the fuck he was waxing poetic about in those journals, then he would at least have the decency to not make Pete watch him fall apart over it. 

If Pete wanted to stay, to keep Patrick in his life, they’d need new boundaries that wouldn’t leave Patrick’s heart aching after a night spent in the arms of a man who couldn’t love him back. And if Pete wanted to leave—well, Patrick would make peace with that, too. He had to. That’s what love means sometimes. The tears stung his eyes as they welled up, preparing to add insult to injury by making him the guy who fucking cried in a bar.

He was rescued by the bartender shoving a glass filled with a fruity concoction under his nose. Patrick blinked through the tears and stared at the frothy pink liquid in confusion. “Um, thanks, but I didn’t order anything,” he said, sniffling as he slid the glass back across the bar. 

“Maybe not,” the bartender said with a knowing smile, “but someone thought you could use something ‘cute and sweet’.” She used air quotes for the last phrase. Patrick smiled and laughed through the tears and took the drink gratefully. “Someone” wasn’t wrong. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, trying not to think about the fact that it was one Pete had picked out for him a few days ago. That would only make him cry again. 

He tried to surreptitiously glance around the bar as he took the first sip. A strawberry daiquiri. A classic chick drink, but one of Patrick’s guilty pleasures. He closed his eyes and imbibed the drink indulgently, grateful to this stranger for giving him something good to focus on.

Patrick set the glass down again, flicking his eyes toward where Pete had disappeared. No sign of him yet. When he turned back, he let his eyes drift over the crowd down the bar from him. That’s when something, or rather _someone_ , caught Patrick’s attention—a man in a dark sweater, watching him. The man raised his glass and smiled amiably at Patrick as he took a sip of his own drink. 

That's when Patrick knew. This was the man he was meant to meet. He'd seen Patrick crying like a loser across the bar, and instead of laughing or rolling his eyes, he'd done something thoughtful for him. And now there he was, looking at Patrick like he actually _saw_ him. 

Patrick’s breath caught—in all his nearly thirty years, he’d never met eyes with someone across a room, had a stranger pick him out of a crowd, had someone he’d never met look at him like he was someone they wanted to know.

And now, Patrick was smiling, a balloon of hope swelling in his chest. Patrick might not get his fairytale love story with Pete, but maybe there was a guy out there for him, someone he could at least be content with. It felt like divine intervention that the very moment he was working himself up to say goodbye to Pete, someone new was waltzing in, as if to say “you’re finally getting it right.” This could be his one shot to meet someone who would heal everything that his love for Pete had broken in him, and he couldn’t throw it away.

Patrick snatched up the daquiri, and, heart in his hand, let his flurry of hope carry him across the bar to where the handsome man was waiting for him. When Patrick got there, he found he didn’t know what to do or say. He hadn’t thought this through at all. Fuck, should he turn around and go back and wait for Pete? If he did that, well, it had taken him so many years for this chance; how long would he have to wait for another? He stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, fiddling with the paper umbrella in his drink. 

“I hope I got the drink right,” the guy said gently. “Did I?”

“Yeah, um, I…I love daquiris,” Patrick admitted, still staring down at his glass. He wished he knew how to do this, flirt with a cute stranger. He hadn’t realized until this moment, when Pete wasn’t there to back him up, that he hadn’t the slightest clue how to do this alone. He also wished it didn’t feel like cheating when he let his gaze drift up to meet the guy’s eyes and promptly toppled into the deep blue ocean looking back at him.

Patrick gave one last desperate glance around the bar for Pete and came up empty. “I’m not making you nervous, am I? I mean, if it’s something I said or something I’m doing, I’ll stop. I just thought you looked like you needed a pick-me-up,” the guy said sincerely.

“No, not at all, it’s just—” Patrick waffled between telling an outright lie and giving a half-truth. Was it too forward to talk about his almost-kiss with Pete? Or tell a stranger who’d just bought him a drink to cheer him up that he was dealing with the possible end of a friendship? Actually, yes; yes to all of it. “I haven’t done this much,” he settled on, letting his eyes flick up to meet the gorgeous blue ones again. “Gone out to bars, socialized, um…met anyone.”

The guy’s eyebrows raised a little, but they fell back into place quickly. “Sometimes that stuff is a little overrated,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t go out much myself, but as luck would have it, I just felt this need to stop in for a drink on the way home. What brings you out tonight?”

“Um…I’d rather not talk about it, actually.” That was probably a really dickish thing to say, but the guy seemed to let it roll off.

“Sure. I didn’t mean to pry or anything. How about I grab you another daquiri and you tell me your name? Does that sound like a fair trade?”

Patrick shrugged, sipping on his drink. He was building his buzz back up again, and it felt good to let go a little bit. “Sounds good to me.”

The guy smiled at him as he flagged down the bartender and ordered them another round of drinks. Then he turned back to face Patrick. “By the way, I’m Ethan,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Ethan. I’m—”

“Patrick!”

They both jolted, Patrick almost toppling off his barstool, as Pete came running over to them. Pete’s eyes were soft, but worried, as they assessed Patrick for anything out of the ordinary. “Patrick, I’m glad you’re okay. I was looking all over for you.” Pete’s hand landed possessively on the small of Patrick’s back, his gaze darkening as he looked over Patrick’s shoulder, no doubt seeing Ethan staring back at him.

“I didn’t go far. I’m sorry.” Patrick said, trying to keep his tone as neutral as the alcohol would let him. Just as he’d drained the last of the frozen fruity goodness, Ethan was tapping his shoulder and handing him another glass of the same. He smiled gratefully and handed Ethan the empty glass awkwardly, his coordination leaving a little to be desired. 

Pete was frowning as he watched Patrick sip his new drink. Thank god they’d made this one strong—well, as strong as a daquiri could be. Maybe if he got tipsy enough, Pete wouldn’t want to talk to him tonight and they’d just go home and wake up tomorrow and pretend none of this had ever happened. Yeah, that sounded like a good plan. Oh, but what about Ethan? 

Pete seemed to be thinking the same thing, but definitely not in as friendly of a manner.

“Patrick, listen, I don’t know what you’re doing over here,” he said urgently, “but we need to—there’s something I need to tell you.”

Patrick’s heart took a freefall into his stomach. Fuckfuckfuck, Pete was going to tell him he finally asked out the person he’d been writing about. And of course, they’d probably said yes and Patrick didn’t know if he could bear to see Pete with one more person that wasn’t _him_. Apparently, his panic showed on his face, because Pete assured him, “it’s not something bad, I swear. Well, at least I hope it’s not.”

Not something bad? Definitely dating someone, then. Patrick turned away from Pete, needing a fucking second to breathe. But then Pete was dragging him a few steps away, just out of earshot of Ethan. “Patrick, what is going on with you? And who is this guy? Do you need me to get rid of him?”

“Get rid of him?” Patrick scoffed. “Why? He’s cute and he seems like a pretty nice guy.” _A pretty nice guy who will help distract me from the fact that you’d rather be with someone else_ , he thought miserably.

“No way, Trick,” Pete said, shaking his head. “He’s not the guy for you. Look, can you just come home with me? We can talk things out, and…keep you away from guys like him.” He made a face as he glanced at Ethan over Patrick’s shoulder.

“He’s been nothing but nice to me. Please can we stay, just for a little bit? Just to see?” Patrick asked, his anxiety rising as he sensed another argument with Pete looming. There was only one place worse than being in this bar with Pete right now, minutes after Pete had broken their kiss and run away—and that was alone with Pete in their apartment where he’d give Patrick the friendzone speech. Patrick’s stomach turned.

But Pete was relentless. “Come on, Patrick. That guy’s a total dick!”

“How would you know? You haven’t even met him.” Patrick threw his hands up, his voice rising in exasperation. Patrick wasn’t sure why Pete seemed so bitter about him being interested in this guy, but he’d known Pete long enough to see that his motives, while mildly valid, weren’t purely altruistic. Patrick slowly untangled the threads, working backwards, and he didn’t like where they seemed to be pointing. Pete didn’t want him, and now he was trying to keep Patrick from his only other viable option? No, he was done. Done letting Pete dictate his life for him to “protect him” and “keep him safe”. Done with Pete invading his every thought and commandeering his every plan to the point that Patrick felt like his life wasn’t his own. Patrick was going to take back control.

“I don’t need to meet him,” Pete insisted. “Just _look_! The second you walked away, he had people all over him. He’s too into himself. He just came here to get his ego stroked…and probably something else, too,” Pete finished, a cutting tone to his voice.

“So basically, he’s you,” Patrick deadpanned. 

Pete looked like he’d been slapped, and Patrick’s heart stung with regret. “Yeah, and I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing you want,” he said sourly.

“I don’t get what your problem is, but I’m going to talk to him,” Patrick declared. He turned to walk back toward Ethan, leaving a fuming Pete calling after him. 

“Patrick, _wait!_ ” Pete pleaded. He caught Patrick’s arm in a tight grip, which Patrick pried off immediately as he spun to face Pete again.

“No, Pete. You don’t get to choose who I do or don’t talk to at a bar. Do you realize that this is the first guy to ever fucking show interest in me?” His voice was rising, quaking with emotion, but he didn’t care. He needed Pete to understand what it was like to be him, waiting around for someone to notice him, but always being the guy who goes home alone. “The entire time we’ve been doing this, not a single decent non-sexual-predator guy has approached me—just me, all by myself, sitting at a bar. They all come to talk to you, and who could fucking blame them? Especially when you’re next to someone like me. _Nobody looks at me_. Nobody _sees_ me.”

Pete’s eyes widened with hurt. “I see you, Patrick.”

 _Not the way I see you, though_. “You’re missing my point, Pete.” Patrick ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands to release some tension. “I’m almost thirty years old and I’m just starting to get some bearings on dating. I appreciate your help up to this point, but you need to let me make my own decisions about _my_ love life. If he turns out to be a dick, then he turns out to be a dick and I walk away. But, honestly? Whatever I do or don’t do with him isn’t up to you. You say you’re trying to get me laid, but then you turn around and become the world’s biggest cockblock, and I just—I can’t fucking keep up!”

“Listen, if you would just come back home with me, we could talk about this and—"

“No, Pete. You wanted me to find a guy, and here I am finding a guy. And you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do with him. If I want to kiss him or date him of if I want to fucking have sex for once in my life, here’s my shot, and I’m not letting your bad mood blow it. So if you can’t deal with me talking to him, then maybe you’re the one who needs to leave.”

Pete flinched like Patrick had struck him. “Wow. Okay.” Pete stared down at the floor between them, looking like there were so many things he wanted to say, but couldn’t. He hadn’t seen Pete look so uncomfortable in a long time, and he wanted to take it back, unstick the barbs on his words that had hurt him just as much as they’d hurt Pete. 

But then he saw that Ethan was still watching him, looking concerned. He looked back and forth from Pete to Ethan, from his past to his future. He really had too much alcohol in his system to make this decision. What it really came down to, though, was that no matter how much Patrick had fucked up tonight, he knew that there was no universe in which Pete and Patrick wouldn’t eventually forgive each other. But his chance at a connection with Ethan? If he didn’t solidify that tonight, at least give that possibility a fighting chance, Patrick might really end up alone, watching Pete with yet another person who wasn’t him, while Patrick was the third wheel, five seconds from clawing his eyes out every time he had to watch Pete kiss someone else. He’d already been down that road for the past ten years, and this was where it had gotten him.

So Patrick made a snap decision and prayed his gut was right. “I…I don’t mean to hurt you, Pete, but I really need a night that’s just about me trying to find someone on my terms. If you can’t support that, please just go home. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Pete raised his head to look at Patrick again, a conflagration of anger in his eyes. “Just remember that when he hurts you—because he will—I warned you and you treated me like shit.” With that, Pete stalked out of the bar, leaving Patrick’s head spinning. 

Patrick felt torn in half. The part of him that was instinctively tied to Pete wanted to run after his best friend, confess everything in the middle of a crowded sidewalk in the city and hope to god that Pete would forgive him and kiss him and carry him home to make love to him.

But life wasn’t a movie, and even if it were, Patrick wouldn’t be the star—he’d be some awkward side character who broke a priceless family heirloom and started the plot’s downward spiral. He wasn’t the kind of guy who got to have his happy ending, and tonight had proven that. So Patrick did the hardest thing he’d ever done where Pete was concerned, the only thing that would at least make his fight with Pete worth something. He let Pete go. He’d fix things between them tomorrow. Tonight, he was going to worry about himself.

He made his way back over to Ethan, who was standing warily by the bar now, stuck in the balance between overstepping and disappointing.

“Hey.” Patrick tried to give him a reassuring look, but it fell flat. 

Ethan’s brow wrinkled. “So…I saw you were having a disagreement with your friend. Is everything okay?”

“Um, yeah. I mean, not right now, but I guess it will be.” Patrick picked up his glass and frowned as he remembered the Brendon incident. He set it back down. “Do you want to finish this one? I think I need something stronger.” 

Ethan raised one perfect brown eyebrow at him. “If you’re sure.”

Patrick nodded and Ethan waved down the bartender again. And then, because he needed a distraction from worrying about Pete, he said, “So, tell me about yourself.”

Patrick quickly learned that not only was Ethan some sort of real estate bigwig, but he was also a philanthropist, a triathlete, an expert sailor, and an accomplished cellist. “I swear, I’ll teach you anything you want to learn,” Ethan had promised, laughing at Patrick’s awestruck look. And by the time he finished listing all of his interests, Patrick was definitely too close to drunk to remember them all. But his impression was that Ethan must’ve had Ivy League schools panting after him when he was in grade school. All of those things thrown together made Patrick wonder what a guy like Ethan had seen in him from across the bar, but then again, opposites do attract. And they did have some things in common, like how much Ethan _loved_ music—classical, jazz, blues, and then some. 

“I think I’ve heard of your shop before. It’s on Jackson, right?”

“Yes! Yes, it is,” Patrick giggled. Since when did he giggle? “You want a private tour sometime?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Ethan smirked at him. “I’d love one, but maybe we should save that for a few dates in. We can make it an afterhours trip.”

Was Patrick imagining that glimmer in Ethan’s eyes when he’d said the words “afterhours trip”? And the fact that Ethan was already hinting at a future with him… Combine that with how Ethan’s mesmerizing blue eyes settling on him gave Patrick a giddy, excited feeling, like a late night walk on the beach, and Patrick was already a goner.

Ethan’s muscled arm drew Patrick close against his side. “Listen, Patrick, it’s getting kind of late, but...maybe I can sneak out of work early tomorrow and we can finish this conversation over a nice dinner. Are you free tomorrow night?”

“O-oh, I—um, sure,” Patrick stuttered. He hadn’t been expecting things to go so well, hadn’t looked at the clock at all since he’d gotten over here. The conversation had just kept flowing, the only hiccup coming when Ethan complimented the Burberry scarf, which Patrick had skirted around with a mumbled thanks, trying not to wonder how Pete was doing right now. And wow—two whole hours had passed and Patrick was dangerously close to getting no sleep tonight because of his excitement, but somehow, he didn’t really mind. Sitting here, talking to Ethan, the world outside of their bubble had ceased to exist. “I can leave the shop a little after six,” he offered.

Ethan smiled and rubbed his hand soothingly down Patrick’s arm. “Perfect. I’ll come pick you up.”

It wasn’t until Ethan left Patrick on the steps of his apartment building, a gentlemanly kiss lingering on the back of Patrick’s hand, that Patrick that the fight with Pete came flooding back to him. His happy bubble immediately burst. He pulled out his phone for the first time in hours. Five text messages and two missed calls, all from Joe and Andy asking him where he was and what he’d done to piss Pete off. But not a word from his best friend, his roommate. He sighed heavily, bracing himself for either the cut of Pete’s hateful words or the silent treatment as his friend’s anger simmered.

The door swung open to a pitch-black apartment, save for the solitary light they always left on at night in the hallway. Pete’s closed bedroom door was a fortress, no light or sound emitting to reveal the man within, a jarring reminder of how just two nights ago, Patrick had fallen asleep on the other side of that door in the safe cocoon of Pete’s embrace, his friend’s heartfelt words a balm for his tired heart and weary mind. 

As he trudged past into his own room, he wondered how long it would be until Pete forgave him, or if he’d finally crossed the line. His heart ached with something he didn’t want to name as he struggled to replace the image of Pete’s wounded expression with Ethan’s handsome, smiling face. Sleep did not come easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, yeah...so. Just a reminder that I PROMISE this fic has a happy ending. In case anyone needs it...
> 
> If you want to come yell at me or if you need some reassurance, come find me on [Tumblr](realdreams.tumblr.com)


	6. The Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick pulled his phone out to see Andy’s number lighting up the screen. His heart stopped. Andy knew he was going out tonight, and Patrick specifically told him to only call if there was an emergency.
> 
> Patrick’s eyes widened. “I have to—” 
> 
> “Go right ahead.” Ethan said, looking only slightly annoyed.
> 
> Patrick stood from the table on shaky legs and—fuck, there was no outside on the 95th floor of a skyscraper. His eyes darted around, looking for the bathroom. He spotted it over Ethan’s shoulder and took off, narrowly avoiding a server with a heavy tray, who shot him an outraged glare as a whipped cream–topped confection smeared against her apron.
> 
> But Patrick only cared about one thing right now—or ever, really—and it was in jeopardy. His thumb swiped the accept button. “Is he okay?” he panted into the phone. The bathroom door slammed shut behind him, closing off the chatter of the restaurant. He braced his free hand against the sink, trying to focus on the cool feel of the porcelain under his hands.
> 
> “Um…well.” Andy sighed. “I’m not sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry it's been so long since my last update <3 My life is a mess, I am a mess, and I poured my heart and soul into getting that Halloween fic right, which set this timeline back quite a bit. 
> 
> My immense thank you to the one and only [Carbonbased000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carbonbased000/pseuds/carbonbased000) for (virtually) holding my hand while I anguished over this chapter (and Ethan) for months. You are the best <3<3<3<3<3 
> 
> Without further ado, all aboard the Patrick's Big Mistake Express! Our first stop is a date with Ethan, the guy from the bar last chapter.

“Do you think my phone’s broken?” Patrick frowned at the ridiculously expensive hunk of plastic, trying to _will_ the damn thing to ring or beep or vibrate or do _something_ besides fucking _sit there_ mocking him with its silence.

“Why do you say that?” asked Mikey. “Is it not giving you notifications or not making calls or something?”

“No, it’s…I’m getting calls. Plenty of them, actually,” he said wearily. In fact, he’d woken up that morning to his ringtone blasting, followed by the shrill tones of Joe’s voice as he reamed Patrick for upsetting Pete so badly. Apparently, after their spat, Pete had wandered around the city until he’d ended up in a bar in a neighborhood he didn’t know, crying to a group of strangers who loaded him up on beer and sympathy. Then he’d run out the door and puked his guts out in an alley, which was when he’d called Joe. Joe had ordered Pete an Uber and stayed on the phone with him all the way home. 

As if the crippling guilt Patrick felt wasn’t enough, Mikey was looking at him like he was one step away from making a mental health hotline call for Patrick.

“Forget it,” Patrick sighed. He sagged against the checkout counter, wishing he could become one with the dull wood. Judging by how old it was, it probably had some wisdom, if only it could talk. And, great, now he was trying to make friends with inanimate objects and giving them personalities. Maybe he should dial the hotline number on himself at this point. 

“Look, Patrick,” Mikey said sincerely as he peeled a reluctant Patrick off the weathered wood. “If you need some time to yourself, you can like, take it. You do know that, right? Like, it’s _your_ shop. If I need help, I can always call somebody in. And I know Gee would move heaven and earth to cover your classes for you.”

“I know you mean well, but…” Patrick looked at Mikey helplessly. He had no idea how to convey that whatever seemed wrong with him might not be temporary. Because if he’d really fucked things up with Pete and lost him for good, it would be like losing a limb. No, half his limbs. At the least. He couldn’t fucking bounce back from that in a week. Hell, if Pete were really gone, Patrick would never be whole again. He felt it in his bones, like it was a law of nature. Grass is green, fire makes heat, and there is no Patrick without Pete. There! He couldn’t even rhyme well without talking to Pete for fifteen hours and twenty-three minutes. Not that he had been counting, because that would be pathetic.

“I just can’t,” he told Mikey, shaking his head. “It’s not going to help.”

In the end, Mikey just gave him a concerned look and told him he’d watch the store for a while if Patrick wanted to go look at those tax files again, which was code for “hide in his office and panic.” Which is exactly what Patrick did for the next hour. He’d typed out approximately seven different messages to Pete ranging from a simple “I’m sorry. Can we talk?” to a slightly panicky “I’m in love with you, you fucking moron! And I’m going to fucking lose my mind if you don’t call me in the next fucking thirty seconds” to a passive aggressive “Fucked the guy from the bar last night. Can’t walk.”

In the end, he hadn’t sent a single stupid text, because even if he did send them, he’d have to deal with the consequences and actually talk to Pete. And, well…he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to him. Because as much as he would’ve loved to point an accusing finger at Pete for whatever had happened last night and just let loose on him every bit of vitriol that had been building up this past week, Patrick’s mind just kept going back to _that kiss_ , playing it over and over, like some kind of Vine video from hell.

All his life, Patrick had been waiting to be kissed like that. It had been the kind of kiss that builds empires, starts wars, tips the scales of fate, searing with passion and love and devotion in a way that seemed so heart-stoppingly eternal. And then the rug had been ripped out from beneath them and Patrick wasn’t sure who to blame.

He just knew he’d been terrified of losing Pete, and so he said all the wrong words at all the worst times and now it seemed he might lose Pete anyway and he just couldn’t fucking handle it. Patrick paced around his office in random patterns, trying and failing to come up with a reason to text Pete, the words to say, the courage to actually go through with it. But nothing worked. He just kept coming back to the same conclusion—he was a coward and a horrible friend who didn’t deserve a second chance because he didn’t have any plans to change. In fact, he was going out with the guy who’d been the reason for his fight with Pete in a few hours. Like the desperate, lovesick moron he was, he was hoping that Pete would be jealous. But of course, that would require Pete _knowing_ about the date, which would, in turn, require Patrick to contact him. And that was the one fucking thing Patrick seemed physically incapable of right now.

In a fit of frustration at all of his sudden ineptitudes, Patrick stomped over to the garbage can by his desk, drew his foot back and swung it as hard as he could right into— _fuck!_

That was not his crappy plastic garbage can. His toes made a slight crunch as they made contact with the metal corner of his desk. “Mother _fucker_!” he shouted, hopping toward his chair. He ripped off his shoe and sock to see a bruise starting to form where his toes throbbed. Part of a nail was broken and missing. Patrick groaned as he took his head in his hands and braced his elbows on his desk. 

After a few minutes (or maybe twenty) of deep breathing exercises, Patrick had calmed down enough to elevate his foot again and look up some tips on how to tell if his toes were broken. Luckily, it seemed like they weren’t. However, they were still throbbing in time with Patrick’s heartbeat, and that seemed like a pretty bad sign. He really needed to stop using his foot as a gladiator against clearly superior inanimate objects whenever he got upset.

Because that unhelpful habit had just earned him another major problem to add to his list. How was he going to go on a date with Ethan when he clearly wouldn’t be able to walk much, if at all? 

He reached out for his phone to call Ethan and ask him to reschedule, but before he could even unlock it, the screen lit up with Ethan’s number. “Hey,” he said into the speaker, his voice a little tight with discomfort. “What’s up?”

“Just calling to check on you, beautiful,” Ethan said sweetly. Patrick could practically hear the smile in his voice and a warm, giddy feeling bubbled up in his chest.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you. I—" Patrick cut himself off, because, actually, he’d been having an awful fucking day and that wasn't the image he wanted to give Ethan before they’d even been on a date. “I’ve had an interesting day, including hurting my foot, but hearing your voice is making me feel better.”

“You hurt yourself? Can you walk?”

“Um, good question. Let me find out.” Patrick slowly lifted his leg up from where it was propped on a stack of papers on his desk and lowered it to the floor. “Here goes nothing,” he said as he stood from his chair, leaning heavily on his good foot. He gingerly started shifting some weight onto his injured foot and found that while it wasn’t comfortable, it could support him well enough, even with bruised toes. He took a few slow, careful steps around his office just to be sure. 

“Okay, well it looks like I’m limping, but not completely out of commission.”

“That’s good news,” Ethan said. “It’s still a shame you’re in pain, though. Are you sure you still want to go out tonight?”

Patrick knew he should probably say no, but hearing Ethan’s voice and remembering the pleasant time they’d had the previous night, Patrick knew he’d have a better night out with Ethan, injured foot and all, than he would slinking home to face Pete with his tail between his legs. “No, I want to go out still,” he said firmly. “But I do hope you have something a little more sedentary planned for us…”

Ethan gave a slight sigh. “Well, I had been planning something a little more active, but it’s nothing I can’t change. Let me make some phone calls and get back to you, okay?”

“Oh, um, okay?” Patrick hadn't heard someone say they'd "get back to" him since his last meeting with the store's accountant.

“Great. Take care, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

“Okay, b—” The line went dead before Patrick finished talking. He pulled his phone away and frowned at the blank screen. Maybe his phone really was broken after all. 

***

Ethan showed up right on time, just after six, in a shiny silver Mercedes that looked fresh off the lot. When Patrick ducked into the seat (with Ethan’s help) he detected a subtle hint of that “new car smell” that he’d always been in awe of. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, soaking in the utter novelty of the moment. This was his first date since practically high school, and it was with the handsome, caring, successful kind of guy who would knock even his mom's socks off. He pushed all his worries about Pete away and gave himself permission to enjoy the experience. 

“Ready?” Ethan said, smiling over at him from the driver’s seat. 

Patrick smiled back. “Let’s roll.” 

***

They ended up at the Hancock, the bile rising further up Patrick's throat with each floor they passed. He knew they were headed to the Signature Room, just one floor and a few days away from that moment when he’d stood gazing out at the city, feeling whole and satisfied with Pete by his side. It was funny, really, how much life could change in such a short amount of time. His queasy stomach and shaking hands didn’t agree, though.

As they waited in queue to be sat at their table, Patrick’s gaze drifted over the room. He felt insanely grateful he’d had the forethought to dress up a little today, or else he’d feel even more uncomfortable right now. Ethan nudged his side. “You okay?”

Patrick just mumbled something about how the elevator ride had made him dizzy. Ethan, ever the gentleman, clutched his arm a little tighter as they followed the maître d to their table, right next to a window. As he sat down in the chair Ethan pulled out for him, his eyes were trained helplessly on the view below as his memory snagged on each building and street. A hand rested on his shoulder, and for one fraction of a second, he expected to see Pete’s warm smile when he turned around. But he met blue eyes instead. He told himself his disappointment was just regret over missing his friend. 

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” Ethan said, smiling down at him.

“It’s exquisite. How did you get us in here on such short notice?” Patrick asked. He hoped the conversation would blot out the sound of Pete's whispered words, as his memory very unhelpfully played on in the background. 

"Oh," Ethan smiled sheepishly. "My dad's friend is the owner, so I uh, just called in a favor."

Patrick's brow wrinkled. Did that mean they'd taken someone else's reservation?

"They just worked an extra table into the floorplan for us,” he said as he took his own seat across from Patrick. “Happens all the time.”

Patrick wasn't fully convinced, but let it drop, not wanting to kill the mood so quickly. He looked at the table instead, where their places had been set with glasses of champagne. 

“Dom Perignon.” Ethan smiled as he nodded at the glasses. “It’s one of my favorites. I hope you’ll like it.”

“Oh, right. That’s lovely,” Patrick said, smiling back like he had a single clue about fancy champagne. He took a polite sip and discovered it tasted the same as any other champagne.

"So," Ethan said carefully as he took a sip of his own champagne and set the flute back down on the crisp tablecloth. “I know this is a little much for a first date, but since we had to change our plans...”

“Yeah, um, sorry about that.” 

“It’s no problem, really. But can I ask what exactly happened with your foot?”

“Oh, um, I dropped a box on it,” Patrick mumbled, embarrassed. It was close enough to the truth. “I was moving some stuff around in my office and I aimed poorly, I guess.”

Ethan stared at him for a moment, like he was waiting for Patrick to say something else. “Oh. You don’t have people who can do that for you?”

“Um, well, it’s my office, so…”

“Well, I suppose when there are no other options, it makes sense,” Ethan said, shrugging. “I can’t imagine having to do that kind of stuff myself.”

After a few beats of silence, Ethan clarified by saying, “You know, manual labor. I mean, I play sports and all that, so I’m not lazy or anything. It’s just not worth ruining a Zegna, you know?”

“Right,” Patrick said slowly before taking a couple more gulps of champagne, draining his glass. “So, what is it you do again?”

“Real estate. Corporate real estate,” Ethan said, beaming proudly. “Just closed a huge deal yesterday. That’s actually why I was out celebrating last night.”

“Oh wow, congratulations. Big…client?” he tried. You’re supposed to ask questions about your date’s interests, right? And Ethan seemed to be very interested in his job. 

Ethan launched into a painfully boring saga of meetings and negotiations and the financial assets of his client—some oil tycoon Patrick pretended to know of. Ethan's superiors were so impressed by him closing the deal in record time that they'd gifted him the flashy new car he'd just picked Patrick up in. Through it all, Patrick nodded accordingly, making vague remarks and stifling yawns. Right when he was about to excuse himself for a bathroom break, Ethan reached a hand across the table to grab Patrick's in his own and squeeze it. "But that’s not the important part," he said, blue eyes wide as his thumb drew soothing circles over the back of Patrick's hand. "I'm just glad it happened so I ended up in the right place at the right time."

"Oh, um," Patrick began awkwardly, because he'd never had a conversation like this, and his most recent date involved milkshakes at a fast food joint. "That's very sweet of you to say. I'm glad, too."

Thankfully, that was when the waiter appeared at Ethan's shoulder, saving Patrick from any further awkwardness. Ethan insisted on ordering for them both. "It's my favorite dish in Chicago," he'd said excitedly. Patrick didn't have the heart to tell him he didn't eat lobster.

As the waiter scampered off, Ethan cleared his throat. “Um, listen, I…I’m sorry if I’m being a little overbearing or whatever. I really like you, Patrick, and I wanted to impress you. It’s just hard to show it under the nervous energy.”

Patrick’s eyes drifted up to meet Ethan’s face again, and—there, that tender smile and ocean eyes that turned Patrick into a puddle of goo the night before. This Ethan, he could talk to. “It’s okay,” Patrick assured him. “I get being nervous and wanting to impress someone. What I don’t get is why anyone would feel like that around me.”

Ethan laughed. “Because you’re beautiful. In more ways than one, I might add.”

“Are you buttering me up for something?”

"That depends. Is it working?"

"Maybe a little bit," Patrick admitted, and he could feel the warm blush fill his cheeks. Yeah, Ethan might be a little conceited and out of touch, but it wasn't like Pete was wining and dining him or complimenting him. It was nice to feel like the love interest in someone else's story instead of a convenient drunken makeout. 

"Is it better than whatever your friend used to do?"

Patrick tilted his head. "What?"

"Your friend from last night. I thought maybe you two used to date or something?" 

Patrick sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, letting his annoyance simmer. Even a date with someone else wasn't a sacred enough space to ward off Pete's presence. "No, he's my best friend. And my roommate."

"Oh," Ethan said, watching Patrick keenly. "Sorry, I just assumed you two…"

"It's fine," Patrick said tightly. It wasn't. 

"Have you made up since...whatever that was last night?" 

Patrick wondered how hard he'd have to run at the window to break through the glass. Probably too hard to make it before someone stopped him. "No, we...haven't seen each other."

Ethan's eyes widened. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure it'll blow over soon."

"Yeah."

When their server appeared, weighed down with plates, he looked like the equivalent of a savior to Patrick. He swooped in, setting heavy dishes down around them, like he was laying out the bombs for a game of minesweeper. The way his and Ethan’s conversation had hedged one uncomfortable point for Patrick already made him feel like wherever he stepped next would certainly be a landmine. 

So, they picked apart their dinner in only slightly awkward near silence, exchanging subtle smiles whenever they made eye contact. “I…hope you actually are enjoying the lobster tails. I neglected to ask you if you actually eat seafood. Or if you have any allergies.” He seemed distressed as he looked at Patrick pointedly. “You don’t, do you?”

“Um, no. No food allergies.”

Ethan breathed out a relieved sigh. “Thank god. Listen, I’ve got a surprise that’ll make it up to you, okay? They should be bringing it out any minute now, actually.” Ethan turned in his chair, craning his neck toward the kitchen door.

Just as Patrick opened his mouth to speak, his cell phone rang, breaking through the sophisticated atmosphere as disruptively as a rock concert in a library. _Saved by the bell_ , he thought. His eyes flashed to Ethan, who nodded solemnly. Patrick pulled his phone out to see Andy’s number lighting up the screen. His heart stopped. Andy knew he was going out tonight, and Patrick specifically told him to only call if there was an emergency.

Patrick’s eyes widened. “I have to—” 

“Go right ahead.” Ethan said, looking only slightly annoyed.

Patrick stood from the table on shaky legs and—fuck, there was no outside on the 95th floor of a skyscraper. His eyes darted around, looking for the bathroom. He spotted it over Ethan’s shoulder and took off, narrowly avoiding a server with a heavy tray, who shot him an outraged glare as a whipped cream–topped confection smeared against her apron.

But Patrick only cared about one thing right now—or ever, really—and it was in jeopardy. His thumb swiped the accept button. “Is he okay?” he panted into the phone. The bathroom door slammed shut behind him, closing off the chatter of the restaurant. He braced his free hand against the sink, trying to focus on the cool feel of the porcelain under his hands.

“Um…well.” Andy sighed. “I’m not sure.”

_“What?”_ Patrick’s voice shook as it rose a couple octaves. His grip on the sink tightened, the smooth edges carving a cavern into his palm as his knuckles turned white.

“Well, he’s probably okay. I just can’t get ahold of him. He won’t answer my texts, my calls—nothing.”

“Maybe he’s busy or sleeping or…being a dick?” Patrick asked, grasping at straws.

Andy made a disapproving noise. “We agreed he’d check in with me every couple hours, and I haven’t heard from him since maybe three. And he was…not in the best headspace. I tried to calm him down, but…well, you know, he’s—”

“Pete. Yeah, he’s Pete.”

“I know you’re on your date, so I could head over there to check on him, but it’s like, rush hour still. It could take me an hour, so—”

“I’m going.”

“What? What about your date?”

“No, it’s…” Patrick’s amygdala snapped awake like the Hulk. He gripped the sink so hard, he thought he might pull off a chunk of porcelain with his bare hand. “Pete’s…” Patrick trailed off, at a loss for words to describe their connection.

“I get it,” Andy said gently. “You don’t have to explain; not that I think you two ever could.”

Patrick swallowed audibly around the lump in his throat, ignored the way his heart felt like it was going to beat its way past his ribcage. “Thanks. I’ll, um, I’ll text you or something. When I get there.”

Patrick hung up the phone without even a goodbye to Andy, now in full Pete-saving mode. _This won’t be like last time_ , he prayed. _This will_ not _fucking be like last time._ He practically threw himself out the bathroom door and into the hallway. He’d almost marched right past the table where Ethan was sitting, his eyes wide with concern, when he had to double back because, oh, right, he was on a date right now.

“I have to go,” he panted.

“Emergency?”

“Yes. Thanks for tonight; it was great. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Ethan was visibly flustered and talking quickly, but Patrick didn’t hear a word; he just hustled out of the restaurant, calling “I’m sorry” over his shoulder. Pete was his everything. And it didn’t matter if they hadn’t spoken in a day or twenty years, or if they were married or living with other people—Pete would always, _always_ hold Patrick’s heart in his hands.

***

He knocked on Pete’s bedroom door, still shut tightly like it had been since he came home last night. Patrick suddenly wondered if Pete had even left his room today. “Petey?” he called. No answer. He pounded on the door a little harder, thoughts about Andy being right swimming in his head. “Pete! Open the door, _now_! I don’t care if you’re mad or you never want to talk to me again. I need to know you’re okay.”

Patrick took half a step back, staring at the door like if he concentrated hard enough, he’d train his eyes to see through it. Then he heard some shuffling movements on the other side and he let out a breath of relief. Pete was in there and he was awake and moving. There was nothing more he could’ve asked for right now.

A bubble of hope rose in his chest as the door handle turned. When the door opened, revealing Pete’s disheveled appearance, the bubble burst. Pete’s hair stuck up at odd angles, his shirt was inside out, and he had such dark under eyes they would’ve turned a Kardashian’s hair gray. Pete’s eyes themselves were red, either from crying or exhaustion—maybe a bit of both. But it was the unfamiliar way they settled on Patrick—wary, yet hopeful; worried, yet guarded—and the absence of the love and trust he’d come to count on that caught Patrick like a sucker punch. 

“This is my fault,” Patrick murmured under his breath as his insides squirmed. “I…I did this.” 

“Trick?” Pete said, his voice rough with disuse. “What’s—"

“I’m sorry.” Arguments be damned, Patrick launched himself at Pete, wrapping his tired frame in Patrick’s own warmth and pulling him in until Pete sagged against him. “I’m so sorry, Petey. I was a dick to you. You were just trying to help me.”

“Trick,” Pete said, his face pressed into Patrick’s shirt. “What’s all this about?”

“I’m a horrible, rotten, no-good friend.”

“What? No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am,” Patrick said, “look at you. You’re a fucking mess, and it’s all because of me.”

“Hey,” Pete said softly, lifting his face from where Patrick had been cradling it against his shoulder. Pete looked Patrick in the eyes, blue meeting amber, holding steady for…seconds? Minutes? Patrick would never know, but now his breathing was calm, even, his heartrate lowering to a casual, syncopated rhythm. 

“How did you do that?” Patrick wondered aloud.

“Simple grounding technique,” Pete shrugged, stepping back from Patrick’s embrace. “Why are you saying those horrible things about yourself?”

Patrick bit his lip. It wouldn’t help anyone to rat his friends out, but since Pete probably hadn’t talked to anyone today aside from Joe and Andy, there would be little wonder who Patrick’s sources were. “I’ve been getting an earful from Joe and Andy,” he admitted. 

Pete made a displeased noise. “Fuckers,” he mumbled.

“They were worried about you! And judging by the look of things, they were probably right to be.” Pete shuffled his feet and Patrick caught a glimpse of the room behind him, a dim light catching the rough creases of crumpled papers littered all around the bed and the desk. Remnants of an intense writing session. 

Pete cast a glance over his shoulder, then quickly stepped into the hallway with Patrick, pulling the door closed. 

Patrick's lips itched to ask the question— _who’s your muse?_ —but they stayed as firmly shut as Pete's bedroom as the silence drew out between them. They exchanged covert glances silently, like two preteens on a date. "I'm not interrupting you, am I?" Patrick asked.

Pete shrugged awkwardly, running his hands through his hair. "You're always a welcome distraction, Patrick.”

“Good, because I’m not sorry. Do you have any idea what the past day has been like for me, not hearing from you or talking to you or even just seeing that you were alive?”

Pete sighed, likely bracing for the typical Patrick lecture about safety and responsibility and everything else Patrick hotly argued that Pete was lacking a good sense of.

And Patrick was right about to launch in, but he stopped himself. 

"I was so scared," Patrick whispered. "Last night, you left. And then Andy called and I thought..." 

"Trick..." 

"Please," Patrick pleaded. "Don't scare me like that again." 

Pete's face changed, his eyes more alert, like he'd been stuck in a trance and Patrick's words woke him up. "Patrick, I didn't mean to. I was just...I was mad. I shouldn't have walked out, though. That was..." Pete huffed in frustration. "That was irresponsible, immature. I should've done better for you." 

"I don't need an explanation, Pete. I just want you to be okay. Are you?" 

Pete's eyes flicked down and away. "Maybe. I don't know." 

"I think I know what might help."

***

Two hours later, the smell of long-since-eaten popcorn clung to the air and Patrick's head rested easily on Pete's shoulder, the weight of the world now bereft of his mind. Thick, fluffy blankets concealed the places their bodies pressed together, the only light in the room the ending credits of _Sixteen Candles_. 

Patrick was half-asleep when Pete stirred next to him, a warm hand caressing his cheek. "I missed you." 

Patrick drew in a sleepy breath and let back out a yawn. "I missed you, too." 

A pause. Patrick's mind was slowly shutting down again. Then came Pete's voice once more, hesitant, quiet. "I won't, you know." 

"Hmm?" 

"I won't leave you again. Ever." 

Patrick smiled against Pete's chest as he snuggled in further, head dipping fully beneath the blanket. "Good."

***

Patrick awoke on the couch that morning with empty arms and ringing in his ears. It took his brain a few moments to boot up before it registered that the ringing was actually his cell phone. He fished it out of his pocket and answered without looking. “Hello?” he croaked out.

“Oh, good, you’re up. Sorry to wake you,” came Ethan’s voice on the other end. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay, you know, with whatever you had to run out for.”

“Right,” Patrick said, rubbing his eyes to make sure this was real. “I’m sorry about how I ran out. It’s just that Pete…we were worried about him.”

“I figured that’s what it was about. And he’s okay now?” 

“Yes, I—at least I think so,” Patrick said slowly. He craned his neck, looking for abandoned coffee mugs, notebooks, hoodies—any sign of Pete. He came up empty.

“So then, nothing should stand in the way of us spending some more time together, right?”

“What? Oh, I was planning to just, um, spend most of the day in.” He wanted to make sure Pete was actually okay and not, say, standing on the ledge of their apartment building’s roof before he left again.

“How about tonight?” Ethan pressed.

Was all dating this demanding? Patrick hated that he couldn’t even ask the one person he trusted more than anyone to tell him the truth. “Um, well, I have a thing tonight…”

“A thing?” Ethan asked excitedly. “Is it the kind of ‘thing’ I can tag along to?”

Joe’s party was supposed to be an informal, friends-only gathering—pizza, beer, whatever sports game was on, and some catching up. Patrick tried to imagine Ethan, designer suit and all, crammed on Joe’s couch, caught between one of Andy’s inked biceps and Gabe’s possessive arm draped around his shoulders as everyone passed around a blunt. He almost choked. “I…don’t know if it’s your kind of scene.”

“If you’re there, I’ll have a good time,” Ethan said confidently. “Unless…you don’t want to introduce me to anyone.”

“No, I…” Patrick sighed, pressing his fingertips to his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut. “I want you to meet them, but…don’t be too disappointed, okay? They’re regular guys, like me.”

Ethan laughed. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m _dating_ you.”

“Right. Well. Um, I’ll see you at seven, then?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Pete’s door clicked open over his shoulder, and Patrick’s head snapped around. He watched the room’s occupant slink into the hallway, clad in only a towel that was dangerously close to losing its battle with gravity. When he saw the phone pressed to Patrick’s face, his expression grew wary. 

Patrick hung up without saying goodbye. “Pete, you’re up. And you showered,” he added, letting his eyes linger just a tad too long on the planes of Pete’s chest.

“Yep. I figured it wasn’t good manners to show up to a party smelling like a hobo, even by our friends’ standards.” His eyes crinkled in laughter as he made his way to the fridge for a drink.

“You’re going to the party today still?” Fuck. Pete was going to be in a room with Ethan. For hours. With all their friends as witnesses to whatever crimes occurred. 

Pete opened a bottle of water, the click of the lid separating the only sound in the room. “Yeah. Wouldn’t miss a Joe Troh party for the world,” he said, taking a swig of water as he walked back toward his room.

“That’s great,” Patrick said, face frozen in a fake smile. He hoped whatever god was out there was thoroughly enjoying his pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to anyone who's still reading and hanging in there for my erratic update schedule. Hope you have a _fantastic_ holiday season <3


	7. The Housewarming Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oh, god, here it comes_ , Patrick thought. He'd been waiting a decade to hear these words, and now they were coming from the wrong person. He squirmed in his seat, barely stifling the urge to look around for Pete, beg him with his eyes to take Ethan's place.
> 
> Ethan watched Patrick closely, his gaze unguarded and endearingly nervous. “Patrick…will you please be my boyfriend?”
> 
> Patrick was supposed to say yes, right? Even if it was a bit too much too soon, and he wasn't sure how Ethan would fit into his life? Because what he really wanted, to be loved by Pete, was a dead end, and here was Ethan, someone who actually wanted to be Patrick's and have Patrick be his. It was the good, responsible, adult choice to say yes. To try to move on. He choked back his uncertainty, plunging the sharp knife of reality into his own heart as he answered, "Yes. Yes, I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
> Surprise! I know you've all been waiting with bated breath for this shitshow of a party, and I guess I was, too, so my brain dumped it out sooner than I expected.
> 
> Another massive thanks to my dearest [Carbonbased000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carbonbased000/pseuds/carbonbased000) for all of her help and advice with this chapter <3<3<3
> 
> And yes, I did make a moodboard specifically for this chapter just so I could use a pic of Gabe and Pete kissing. Please spend at least a few seconds staring at it, so I'm not alone in my weirdness...

“Something eating you?”

“Hmm?” Patrick flinched, looking up just in time to see Pete’s eyes settle on him suspiciously from the other end of the couch.

“You seem a little off is all,” Pete remarked casually.

Patrick swallowed hard. “Um, what do you mean?” He knew he wasn’t good at hiding things, so he really should have seen it coming that even hours of Cards Against Humanity and funny YouTube videos would only bring him back to the same impossible intersection. 

Pete arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring at your phone for three minutes without moving.”

“Your point?”

“Your phone is locked. You’re staring at a blank screen.”

Oh. 

Pete’s hand landed on Patrick’s knee, stilling its frantic bouncing. “So, do you want to tell me what’s up or are you going to wait for me to guess?” 

Patrick raised his apprehensive gaze to meet Pete’s firm expression. Now or never. “Yeah, actually…um, do you remember at the—” No, the bar was the worst thing he could possibly bring up. “I met someone and I…was planning to go to the party with him tonight.”

Pete went stone still, his eyes hardening and his lips pressed into a thin line; Patrick couldn’t even see him breathing.

“Pete? Um…are you okay?”

“I—I knew there was a guy,” Pete said stiffly, letting his hand drop from Patrick’s leg. “I just. I guess I wasn’t expecting that you’d already be introducing him to everyone.”

“I know it’s fast, but he said he wanted to go and since our date got cu—finished early,” Patrick amended. “I thought it was rude to say no.”

Pete snorted. “Funny. You didn’t have a problem saying no to me the other night, when I begged you to just come home.” 

“I didn’t—”

Pete held up a hand to silence Patrick as he rose from the couch. “You know what? I’ll spare you the discomfort of the excuses. You’re so eager to be with this guy that it doesn’t matter what I say or how I feel, so don’t let me stand in your way.” He turned and stormed off to where his shoes were lying by the front door.

“Pete, what the hell?” Patrick raced after him. He’d known the Ethan surprise wouldn’t go smoothly, but he’d really thought after all these years that he knew how to handle Pete better than this. “It’s not like I’m marrying the guy; we’ve never even kissed!”

Pete rolled his eyes before jamming on the second shoe. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you will soon.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Patrick argued, blocking Pete’s way to the front door. “I’ll cancel on him. Just please, Pete. I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

“Move, Patrick,” Pete said curtly. “You made your choice. And I’m tired of fighting someone who clearly doesn’t care that I’m upset.” Then he shouldered his way past Patrick, sending Patrick spinning like a revolving door.

Just as the deadbolt slid open, Patrick scrambled to position himself against the door, so Pete couldn’t open it yet. “Pete, why can’t you just be happy for me?” he pleaded. “I thought you wanted me to date someone?”

Pete raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Look, I know that you’re mad that I’m spending so much time with someone else, but Pete, you’ve dated plenty of people, and I was always cool with it. Why is it a problem that now it’s my turn?”

“Because I never ditched you for them!” Pete accused. “I always included you in everything I did. _Always_.”

“Yeah, it was great being the third wheel on all your outings, Pete. Thanks for being so gracious.”

Pete laughed harshly and shook his head. “You were never a third wheel, Patrick.”

“No? Then what was I?” Patrick demanded.

“A waste of my time, apparently.” Pete grabbed for the door handle, and Patrick, stunned into compliance, stumbled back a few steps. He felt more confused than ever about what he’d done to earn Pete’s ire, so he stood and watched as Pete stepped out the door. 

“Pete—”

Pete turned back to face Patrick through the narrow space between the door and the jamb. “Oh, and when you get to the party with Mr. Money Bags, it would be great if you just didn’t talk to me at all. Thanks.” Then he was gone, the door slamming behind him and leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

***

When he met Ethan on the front steps of the apartment building, Patrick was still shaken by Pete’s outburst. Thankfully, his grim expression must have told Ethan all he needed to know, because he just laid an arm gently around Patrick’s shoulders and walked with him in silence to the convenience store and then the few blocks to Joe’s. 

“Where’s the car?” Patrick finally asked as they rang Joe’s buzzer.

“Oh, I parked it down the street from your place. But when I saw you, I got the feeling some fresh air and a walk might help with…whatever’s upsetting you.”

“Mm, yeah, kind of.” Patrick supposed he couldn’t blame Ethan for not knowing that music would’ve been much more distracting and welcome than the clunky awkwardness of their silent walk. 

Ethan frowned and said nothing. He just stared resolutely at the list of names next to the buzzers until the speaker crackled to life with Joe’s voice and the murmur of distant voices. “Yo, who is it?”

Patrick leaned around Ethan and pressed the button to speak. “It’s Patrick and, um, I brought someone with me I want you guys to meet.”

Joe was silent for a moment. “Okay,” he said, flatly. “Come on up.”

A harsh sound like a hive of angry wasps came through and the door clicked. Ethan grabbed the handle and opened it, holding the door for Patrick to walk through.

When they finally stood outside Joe’s door, Patrick spoke up. “Um, just…listen, before we go in, Pete…isn’t very happy that we’re coming together. Things might be tense, so if you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to stay too long.”

Ethan grimaced and laid a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re still fighting. And even sorrier that it’s about me. Are you sure you want to go in?”

Patrick shrugged. “They’re my friends. And it’s Joe’s housewarming party. He’s super excited about it, so if I miss it, then I’m pissing off two friends.”

Ethan gave him a supportive smile and a kiss on the cheek. “For good luck,” he explained with a smirk, seeing Patrick’s blush. One hand reached for Patrick’s while the other knocked on Joe’s door. 

“It’s open!” Joe’s voice called. “And you better have booze!”

“At least we have that going for us,” Patrick joked as they stepped through the door.

But any hope he had deflated quickly. Each person who spotted him and Ethan in the doorway went silent, the effect rippling from the family room to the kitchen and the balcony beyond. Patrick felt like he was having one of those dreams where you end up on stage in front of everyone you know in just your underwear (if you’re that lucky). Instinctively, his eyes sought out Pete, forgetting for a moment that Pete was probably the reason he was the center of attention right now. 

He spotted Pete on the couch. Pete’s eyes narrowed as he turned away, using one of his too-familiar gestures to draw Gabe back into hushed conversation, their heads bent close together while Gabe giggled. Patrick turned away, but all he could see was the silhouette of Pete and Gabe together. All he could hear was the low murmur of Pete’s voice, even after conversations started to pick back up again. 

Patrick dropped Ethan’s hand. “Ethan, I could really go for a drink right now. Would you mind?”

“What do you—”

“Anything. And bring this.” He handed Ethan the refreshments they’d grabbed on the way there, and, after shooting him a questioning look to which Patrick just shook his head in reply, Ethan swept toward the kitchen without another word.

Patrick watched his date wander further into the lion's den, an uncomfortable tightness forming in his chest. Ethan had had no clue that he’d signed up to be ostracized at what would otherwise have been an exciting occasion, meeting Patrick’s friends for the first time. But he hoped Ethan would see as the night went on that Patrick’s behavior (and everyone else's) was more Pete-induced than personal.

Patrick looked around for a place to sit, but judging by the barely contained hostility behind half of his friends’ smiles, he wasn’t even sure if he would be welcome. Maybe Ethan was right, and they should’ve ditched. He edged toward the door, hoping that when Ethan returned, they could slip back out soundlessly, and everyone would forget that they’d come.

But Patrick had never been the guy to have plans go his way. “Hey, Patrick, you made it!” A big hand clapped him on the shoulder and Patrick turned to stare up—way up—into a smiling face with warm brown eyes. “Heard you brought a guy with you. Where is he?”

“Um…he’s getting me a drink.”

Travie nodded, taking a sip of his own beverage. “You know, that was a really bold move for you to bring him here. I mean, I’m probably not supposed to say anything, but Pete was having fits when he got here. Had to send in Saporta to save the sinking ship.”

Patrick winced. “I—”

“I know you didn’t mean to upset him, but you did, and you’ve gotta fix it, man. This new guy you’re seeing might be hot and have money coming out of his ass, but he’s not the one you go home to.”

“What are you saying?” Because honestly, Travie was making it sound like Patrick was a philandering husband and Pete a lonely housewife.

“Not saying anything except you should talk to him,” Travie said, giving him a pointed look.

“I was trying to talk to him, and he ran out!” Patrick argued.

“He gets like that sometimes, though. You know that better than anybody else!” Travie laughed and Patrick couldn’t help smirking, because he really did know. He and Pete could go ten rounds when one of them was mad, but in the end, they were like magnets, locked in a battle of will on one pole, drawn to one another so strongly that nothing could part them on the other.

Travie squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve gotta get your shit together and go make an effort, Patrick. He just needs to know you care about him. And don’t forget the ‘I’m sorry’ part.”

“He said when I left that he didn’t want me near him,” Patrick pouted. “Plus, he’s all over Gabe like I’ve never seen.”

Travie rolled his eyes. “You’ll figure it out. You two always do.”

Patrick huffed in frustration. Why was advice never actual advice anymore? What did he have to say to Pete that wasn’t already said at the apartment?

Then Travie clapped him on the shoulder again. “Here comes your boy toy with a drink, and it looks like…” Travie squinted. “Yep. Your least favorite.”

Patrick groaned—at the gross beer or the boy toy comment, he wasn’t sure.

Travie’s face lit up as he flashed Ethan a smile. “Sooo, this is the mystery guy who’s coming between the dynamic duo, huh? What’s up? I’m Travie McCoy.” He stuck out a hand for Ethan to shake.

Ethan, looking perplexed, stiffly extended his hand to meet Travie’s in what just may have been the most inequitable handshake ever as Travie yanked his arm up and down enthusiastically. “I’m Ethan, Patrick’s date. Nice to meet you,” Ethan said, throwing a glance at Patrick, as if trying to surmise whether all these oddball people really were his friends or the whole thing was a ruse.

Patrick had to admit, it was both startling and amusing to see Travie’s tattoos and laid-back style next to Ethan’s tailored suits and expertly gelled hair. It was like seeing a Dickens novel tucked in with the anime section. If Pete were there to witness it—

Right. Pete was barely even aware of Patrick’s existence beyond what was necessary to throw scornful gazes his way. 

Travie seemed to notice his discomfort. He commandeered Ethan’s attention with his surprise knowledge of the Chicago real estate market so Patrick could sneak away. Patrick walked carefully, like a zoologist approaching a wild animal, over to where Pete sat, half on Gabe’s lap, one arm slung across Gabe’s shoulders as he smiled into Gabe’s neck.

Patrick stood there, feeling like a voyeur for a few moments, neither Gabe nor Pete acknowledging him. He’d have to interrupt them purposely. “Hey, um, can I cut in?”

Pete hmphed and turned his face away, his knuckles going white from his grip on Gabe’s back. Patrick looked pleadingly at Gabe for assistance.

Gabe watched Patrick carefully for a moment, like his eyes were scanning Patrick’s brain for his intentions. “I think you should talk to him, babe,” Gabe eventually murmured, running his fingers through Pete’s hair, which was a total mess at this point. 

Pete murmured something unintelligible and Gabe held up his index finger as he and Pete had a short, murmured exchange. Then two pairs of wary brown eyes were settled on Patrick expectantly. 

“Um…Pete, I…I fucked up,” Patrick began. It was awkward enough to apologize to someone, but doubly awkward with their (self-appointed) bodyguard present. “And I wanted to say I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t right for me to spring Ethan coming here on you. I was just…” Patrick sighed frustratedly. “I was scared. Of this happening,” he said, gesturing between himself and the two-headed pile of limbs on the couch. “And now it still did anyway.”

Pete nodded for Patrick to continue, so he must’ve been doing something right, at least. 

Patrick cast a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure Ethan was still fully ensconced in an elaborate conversation with Travie before continuing. “I never intended to come here with him or introduce him to everyone—especially not this soon—but when I talked to him this morning, he asked if we could go out. I told him I had a thing tonight as an excuse, but then it backfired and he kind of…demanded to come with.”

Gabe’s eyebrows rose. Then his gaze settled on something beyond Patrick’s shoulder. Pete extricated himself from Gabe’s octopus-like arms and sat upright, though still with parts of his body resting uncomfortably close to Gabe’s…private areas. 

“Is that really what happened?” Pete asked, his voice raspy, sparks of hope hiding out in the gold flecks of his eyes.

“Yes, I swear it’s the whole truth. I just…I couldn’t get a word in to tell him no,” Patrick explained. “And,” he continued, dropping his voice quite a bit, “it’s literally just a second date. We only met a couple days ago; we don’t know each other yet.”

Pete nodded slowly, seeming torn. He looked back at Gabe.

“Don’t you believe him?” Gabe prompted.

“Pete, I’m not picking him over you. You’re irreplaceable, and you know it,” Patrick said, smirking. 

“About time you figured that out,” Pete muttered, lifting his arms and leaning in, like he meant to hug Patrick. Instead, he let his gaze rise to behind Patrick’s head just as a shadow fell over Patrick. 

Patrick turned around to see Ethan, crappy beer in hand, halt a couple of steps away when he noticed Pete, his fan club president, shooting him a scathing look as he settled back against the couch. Perfect fucking timing; he’d really been looking forward to that hug and Ethan’s impeccable timing had cost him all his hard work at redemption.

“Uh, sorry if I’m interrupting, but I thought you might finally want that beer I grabbed you.” Ethan held out a glass bottle for Patrick to take. Patrick stared at it for a moment, seeing Pete’s watchful gaze, and praying that Pete wouldn’t say anything. “Thank you,” Patrick said, taking the beer and avoiding Pete’s eyes while he pretended to take a sip. In a few minutes, he’d conveniently “forget” which drink was his, so he'd have to grab a new one.

But it seemed that the unfortunate beer was the least of Patrick’s problems, because three people of varying importance in his life were engaged in a stare down, and Patrick himself was in the line of fire on every side. “Um, guys, this is Ethan.” He made an awkward gesture towards Ethan, who was hovering behind him. “Ethan, this is Gabe, a good friend of mine, and…this is Pete, my best friend and my roommate of many years.”

“Damn straight,” Pete muttered, just loud enough for Patrick to hear. 

Everyone mumbled a nice-to-meet-you and carried on, but Patrick could see the effort it was taking Pete not to say what he really wanted or act the way he normally would around Patrick. That was when it struck him: Pete wasn’t used to being the third wheel. With Patrick’s perpetual singleness, Pete had never had to set boundaries or share Patrick’s affection before. But now that Ethan was there, it would be awkward for Pete to slink up beside him and wind an arm around his waist or pass Patrick a beer he’d just drank from or do any of the other recklessly more-than-friendly things they tended to do without a second thought. 

Patrick glanced nervously at Pete, then back at Ethan’s puzzled expression. “Ethan, do you mind if we—”

“It’s fine. I’ll go,” Pete said moodily, rising on unsteady legs, clearly already a few drinks in (and maybe more than just that) as he unskillfully picked his way between Patrick and Ethan and the surrounding furniture. “Need another drink anyway.” Then he half-stumbled his way to the kitchen.

Patrick watched him go, that familiar urge—follow, protect, comfort—tugging at his heart. But he would take care of Pete later, once they got home. He had bigger fish to fry right now. He turned back to Gabe, shooting him his best mom glare until Gabe caved. “Listen, Patrick, he just was so upset about you. I gave him a couple drinks to chill him out. He’s better now.”

“That’s not all you gave him,” Patrick accused.

Gabe looked down at his hands and sighed. “Look. He needed a little extra help, so I gave it to him.”

“That wasn’t _helping him_ ,” Patrick said through gritted teeth. “You know better, Gabe. Next time, do me a favor and just hand him off to Andy, okay? Great.”

Patrick spun on his heel to stalk off, but then slammed into another body. Oh, right, Ethan. He looked up into Ethan’s concerned expression, an uncomfortable mixture of shame and guilt brewing in his chest.

He grabbed Ethan’s hand and motioned to the far corner of the room. When they sat down, Ethan was still watching him, like he was waiting for Patrick to say something, anything. Patrick’s gaze settled on the rest of the partygoers. There were more people than he expected—maybe twenty-five—and they formed groups around the room, filling the air with raucous drunken laughter, the TV tuned in to a game no one was watching as guys took shots and carried on boisterously while the few women huddled together in the kitchen, giggling over their wine glasses. Joe was carrying on about all his fancy new decor, including the expensive throw rug he’d just gotten that day, as Gabe and Travie started up some impromptu karaoke. Patrick felt like he was watching the end of the Harlem Shake, and he hadn't been invited.

“I’m sorry. About my friends,” Patrick spat out. “They’re normally good people. Tonight is just…a little more difficult.”

“Because of me,” Ethan said gloomily. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Patrick. I…I shouldn’t have insisted on coming. I think your friend really needed you tonight and I ruined that for you. For both of you.” For the first time since Patrick met him, Ethan seemed genuinely uncomfortable, sitting in one of Patrick’s best friends’ apartments with everyone Patrick knew. 

Patrick placed a hand on Ethan’s arm consolingly. “I appreciate that, but really, it’s my fault. I should’ve known this would happen and spared you the discomfort.”

Ethan gave Patrick a sad smile. “You know, that’s what’s so different about you, Patrick. You’re always thinking of everyone else, even when you should be thinking about yourself.” He reached over and took Patrick’s hand. It felt warm and strong. 

Patrick shivered, his instincts picking up on where this was headed. 

Ethan turned to face him better, looking self-assured again. “I know this isn’t the best place to say this, but watching you with your friends here tonight, I've learned so much more about you. You’re caring and thoughtful and you stand up for what’s important to you, even if it means you stand against a friend. That takes a lot of courage, Patrick,” he said, his eyes gazing into Patrick’s and drawing him in like the ocean tide. “I knew there was something special about you when I spotted you at the bar, but I swear every time I'm near you, you're even more amazing than the last. And I can't wait to see all the other ways you're going to surprise me.”

_Oh, god, here it comes_ , Patrick thought. He'd been waiting a decade to hear these words, and now they were coming from the wrong person. He squirmed in his seat, barely stifling the urge to look around for Pete, beg him with his eyes to take Ethan's place.

Ethan watched Patrick closely, his gaze unguarded and endearingly nervous. “Patrick…will you please be my boyfriend?”

Patrick was supposed to say yes, right? Even if it was a bit too much too soon, and he wasn't sure how Ethan would fit into his life? Because what he really wanted, to be loved by Pete, was a dead end, and here was Ethan, someone who actually wanted to be Patrick's and have Patrick be his. It was the good, responsible, adult choice to say yes. To try to move on. He choked back his uncertainty, plunging the sharp knife of reality into his own heart as he answered, "Yes. Yes, I will."

Ethan’s smile was so wide, it gave Pete a run for his money. Then the unexpected happened, and so quickly that Patrick barely had time to register Ethan leaning in, much less react. 

Ethan’s kiss was the kind every naïve teenage daydream was made of—warm and smooth and perfect. No fireworks, none of that aching need that felt like it would burn Patrick alive if he didn't get _more_. Apparently, those kisses—the thrilling, spine-tingling ones—only came during stolen trysts with your best friend.

When their lips broke apart, Patrick forced his smile a bit wider, using the memory of Pete’s kisses as fuel to burn away the taste of someone else on his tongue. Until he looked over Ethan’s shoulder to see Pete, two bottles of Patrick’s favorite beer in his hand, looking like he’d just discovered a corpse on the ground. But when his eyes met Patrick’s, that horror morphed into disgust, hatred. Pete clumsily set down the bottles, which then tipped over, making a loud clang against the table, and took a determined step toward them. 

Then he opened his mouth and vomited all over Joe’s brand-new rug. 

“What the fuck, man!” Joe yelled as he ran over, hauling Pete upright and wiping his mouth with a grimace. “Bathroom _now_.”

Pete’s eyes went wide before giving Patrick another hurt look and scuttling down the hallway, Joe huffing after him.

“I should go…see what that’s about,” Patrick murmured, avoiding Ethan’s gaze, along with everyone else’s as he rose and walked down the hall. Ethan didn’t stop him. 

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t Patrick’s best decision. As he approached the closed master bedroom door, Patrick heard one voice rising in intensity, another soothing voice shushing the first. He slipped into the room soundlessly, shutting the door after him, then carefully padding nearer to where the bathroom light filtered into the bedroom through a cracked doorway.

“…kissing that asshole! _In front of everyone!”_

“I know, Pete, I know,” Joe said gently, barely audible over the sound of running tap water. “But that doesn’t mean you can throw a fit about it. You can tell him how you feel, if you’re careful how you do it, but really, at the end of the day, it’s his decision who he has in his life.”

Pete was quiet for a moment, probably trying hard to wrap his inebriated brain around Joe’s words. Then, quietly, “Are you saying I don’t deserve to have Patrick around?”

“Not exactly,” Joe said slowly. “But it’s a warning that he might not always be there. Being roommates, best friends—it’s a choice you two make every day to share so much of your lives with each other. But everything runs its course eventually, Pete. You’ve gotta stop helping the sand run out.”

Joe’s words were a knife in Patrick’s gut. He’d thought very little about when this—the PeteandPatrick era—would end back when they naively signed their first lease together. But after Pete’s overdose and the backbreaking fallout, he’d really thought about whether Pete was someone he wanted to invest so much of his time and effort in. Patrick found himself wondering if his answer would be the same next time. He loved Pete more than anything, but lately it seemed all they could do was break each other.

“…don’t care if I’m upsetting him. He’s making a mistake,” Pete protested. “That guy is a jerk! I mean, what kind of name is Ethan? He literally shits money as he walks. Patrick shouldn’t be kissing someone like that. What the fuck is he thinking?”

Patrick broke. He toed the bathroom door fully open and stepped into the doorway, facing Pete with his arms crossed. “ _I’m thinking_ I can kiss whoever I want, Pete. Especially if it’s my boyfriend.” Patrick regretted the words the moment they left his lips, but they just slid out so easily. And, there was a sad part of him that was so excited to have someone to call his boyfriend, he’d just been repeating the word in his head for several minutes already. Naturally, he’d chosen the worst moment to set it free.

“Your _what_?” If Pete hadn’t already blown a gasket, he’d have blown one right then. As it was, Pete teetered and probably would’ve fallen off the counter and broken like Humpty Dumpty if Joe hadn’t grabbed him by the shoulders.

“I think…that’s…enough,” Joe grunted, pinning Pete back against the mirror. His glare at Patrick’s reflection in the glass was menacing. “Either be quiet and help me clean him up or get the fuck out.”

Patrick’s nose wrinkled at the smell of vomit in the air. He took a step into the room anyway.

“Don’t come any closer,” Pete hissed. “I don’t want you here.”

“Jesus!” Joe said. “What is _wrong_ with you two? Is there a gas leak in here? You’re fucking best friends! Inseparable!”

“Things change,” spat the monster who was apparently possessing Pete’s body.

Patrick wasn’t sure what cut deeper, the lasers of his best friend’s hateful eyes or the knives in his voice. To think that this was Patrick’s reward for all the years they’d spent together. The months he’d refused to leave Pete’s side. Everything he’d sacrificed for Pete, for _them_. The “them” that was tearing at the seams right before his eyes. He swallowed around the lump in his throat as he spun to leave. “Things don’t change, Pete. People do.”

He made it about two steps into the main hallway before he ran smack into Ethan, his brow wrinkled in concern. “Is everything okay? I didn’t know if you— but then I heard yelling…”

Patrick stared at the ground. How do you tell the guy who just asked you to be his boyfriend that your world is crumbling like the walls of Jericho and it's partially his fault? “Um, Ethan, can we…talk? Like outside?” He thumbed toward the balcony. 

Ethan nodded resolutely, casting one last glance toward the door they could just barely hear murmuring voices through. But Patrick didn’t want to listen. Right now, he had plenty to say, and not to Pete.

When they shut the glass door behind them, Patrick remembered being out on another balcony. A brick wall. A stinging pain. A strong arm to guide him, despite being in just as bad of a shape. And the irony of being here with someone that person hated, of having that person just a couple walls away, not even wanting to see Patrick’s face, made him want to laugh until he sobbed.

“What’s up?” Ethan said, breaking into Patrick’s daydream, like he’d broken into his life. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Us,” Patrick said firmly. 

Ethan tilted his head. “I thought we…just became a couple? What are you saying?”

Patrick shuffled his feet, staring down at the flooring that was just starting to peel up, when he looked closely enough. He thought about amber eyes and pain. “I know, and I’m sorry, but…” Patrick raised his gaze to look at Ethan squarely. “I have other things I need to focus on right now.”

“So, it’s about him, huh?” Ethan looked away from Patrick, his jaw clenching as he stared out on the buildings, their normal luster muted under a colorless sky. 

“It’s always about him,” Patrick offered, shrugging. Because what use was it to pretend Pete wasn’t a factor? Pete was embedded in Patrick like a tracking device—deep under his skin and too difficult to remove without repercussions, even if he wanted to. “But it’s more than that, too, if I’m being honest.”

“Did I do something?”

“No. But I feel like whatever’s between us—it’s like…taking over too much of my life too quickly.”

Ethan sighed and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. With each group of strands his fingers broke through, the perfectly gelled style grew wilder. “Are you saying you want to break up already? Or do you want to slow down?” 

“Let’s just…dial things back a bit for now. Okay?”

Ethan nodded silently, shoulders tense as a bowstring as he braced his hands on the railing.

Patrick reached out a hand to rest on Ethan’s arm. Ethan’s gaze dropped to the touch and rose back up to stare at Patrick. But whatever his expression was was wiped clean before Patrick could get a good read on it.

“You know…I know it’s probably not the right time to say this, either, but since we’re talking, I might as well,” Ethan began. “I know you really care about him and everything, and I won’t pretend to compete or understand, but…he’s always going to be such a big load for you to carry, Patrick. I can see it, and I know you’re up for the task now, but you might not be someday soon.”

“What are you saying? You think I should dump him?” Patrick asked incredulously. Who did Ethan think he was, giving Patrick advice on who he should be friends with? Was this “Bash Patrick for Everyone He Cares About” Day and everyone forgot to send him the memo?

“Maybe not that far, but—” Ethan bit his lip. “I just think it would be a good idea to give yourself some space from him. For when he becomes too much, you know?”

Patrick scoffed. “There is no other option with Pete besides ‘too much’. He’s an all-or-nothing kind of guy.”

“Yeah, but does that work for you?”

“I…being friends isn’t about what’s convenient, Ethan. It’s about who you care about, who you love.” But maybe, in some twisted way, Ethan had a point. His friendship with Pete was just _different_ from any other relationship he’d ever had. He’d do anything for Pete, way beyond the scope of his comfort zone, and embarrassingly enough, a decent amount more than he’d do for anyone else. Were his feelings for Pete clouding his understanding of what a friendship looked like? 

But Patrick didn’t have time to examine deeper, because Ethan was talking again, his voice lower now. “Look, I know some great people—regular real estate brokers—who can help you find a good deal when you’re ready to move on and get your own place.”

Patrick stood in silence, feeling the connections in his brain spark and fizzle, like an overloaded Commodore 64.

Ethan patted him on the shoulder. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be friends with him; I just think you could benefit from…having your wagons a little less hitched. Just think about it, okay?”

Patrick thought about the look on Pete’s face, the way Pete’s loathing eyes had cut him into a million little pieces. Patrick wasn’t sure what the answer was for him and Pete to get back on track, but he knew the direction they were headed in wasn’t healthy. Maybe living apart, even just for a little while, would give them both some much-needed perspective. Patrick looked up at Ethan and nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I think you might be right.”

Ethan reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card. “This lady is an old friend of the family. She’ll get you a nice apartment for a steal. Anywhere you want.”

Patrick took the business card, hands shaking like a kid buying drugs on the street corner. “Okay, I’ll try to give her a call.”

A sharp, outraged gasp from the doorway tugged at Patrick’s consciousness. He whipped around as the door slammed shut, but even with the glare of the glass, he recognized the back of Pete’s favorite hoodie retreating. “Goddamn it!” Patrick yelled. 

He ran for the balcony door, throwing it open and stumbling into the apartment just as the front door swung closed. By the time he pushed his way through the crowd and into the third-floor hallway, there wasn’t even a footstep to be heard.

“Patrick?”

“You knew he was watching.”

“No, I swear—”

“I don’t believe you,” Patrick retorted. “You did that on purpose. And now he’s high and drunk and he’s gonna get picked up by the cops if he does something stupid, which, he’s Pete, so, it’s kind of a law of nature that he will. Thanks for nothing, Ethan.” Patrick stalked over to the stairs. 

“Patrick, I swear I didn’t see him. Let me come with you,” Ethan called, starting for the stairs. “We’ll find him together and then we can all—”

Patrick halted, halfway down the first flight, and stared back at Ethan through slitted eyes. “I think you’ve helped enough for one day.”

Patrick didn’t wait to hear Ethan’s response. He hit the ground running when he reached the lobby and didn’t look back.

***

Patrick spent the better part of an hour running around their neighborhood, checking all of Pete’s favorite hangouts, calling Pete incessantly, even just to listen for the ringtone nearby. But then Pete turned his phone off and Patrick really started to worry. He checked the apartment at one point, but there was no trace of Pete. He ducked into an alley to watch, in case Pete walked by, but once the sun set and he started hearing unidentified noises in the darkness behind him, Patrick admitted defeat and headed home for the night.

When Patrick threw open the door, the apartment was dark. No Pete, then. He'd been hopeful that, like a small child running away, Pete would get lonely and tired and find his way back home quickly. 

Instead, Patrick had to decide on his next move. He couldn't call the cops until it had been twenty-four hours, so his only option for a search party was himself and his cell phone. Pete obviously wasn't with any of their friends, because they would've called Patrick (at least, he hoped so). So, it was a matter of how long Patrick was willing to forego sleep and how far his legs could carry him.

Patrick opened the fridge door and pulled out one of Pete’s energy drinks, hoping it would sustain him through the long night he had ahead. Then, he drew out his chair at the table, and instead of his brain spitting out a brilliant plan to locate Pete, he just…sat there. Motionless. He stared out at the rest of the dark apartment, trying to superimpose the lively chaos of Pete over the lonely scene that was there now. “God, what did I do?” he muttered. “How did it get this bad? How did I _let_ it get this bad?”

And just as he was staring at the couch, something _moved_. Patrick's heart took off like a rocket. His life, full of glorious memories of the sound of Pete’s laughter and the crinkles around Pete’s eyes, flashed through his mind. Whatever was on the couch was here to reap his sorry soul, so he would probably end up dying all alone in this apartment, Pete lost to him forever.

Just as Patrick lifted his energy drink, preparing to launch it, the mysterious heap spoke. "Patrick?" it said groggily. "Is that you?"

"Pete!" Patrick flew across the room, physics be damned, dropping to his knees next to Pete on the couch and drawing him into a crushing bear hug.

"You're here. Oh my god, you’re here," Patrick choked out, his heart flooding with relief. But something was wrong. Pete wasn’t hugging him back. He reached over to the closest lamp and turned the switch. 

Pete was in the same outfit from the party and looked physically no worse for wear. "Where have you been?"

"Here."

"No, you weren't,” Patrick insisted. “I was here an hour ago and I searched the whole place and didn't see you."

Pete swallowed audibly, fingers playing with a loose thread on the throw in his lap. "Wilmette," he finally mumbled.

"You went home?"

Pete nodded, still not meeting his eyes. "My mom talked to me for a bit and then...they packed me in the car and drove me back here."

"Why would you go home, Pete? I don't—"

Pete fell into his arms, burrowing his head in Patrick’s neck. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

“Bad? No, what do you mean, Petey?” Patrick turned Pete’s face so he could look into Pete’s eyes. They were wide and glassy with emotion.

He heard Pete swallow hard. “Well, the screaming and the fit throwing. And the puking. The puking was probably the worst part.” 

Patrick shrugged. “Joe will get over his obsession with that rug. The thing that will really haunt me is the way you acted in the bathroom, when you…you said you didn’t want me there. I didn’t know what to do,” Patrick said. He felt just as foolish admitting it as he did in the moment that Pete turned him away. “You’ve always wanted me there. That’s when I knew I’d fucked up too much.”

“Patrick, I was just upset,” Pete said, shrugging it off. “The truth is I’ll always want you there. I just…I could see you weren’t choosing me. Again. And it fucking hurts!”

“Not choosing you?” Patrick asked, rising to sit on the couch next to Pete. “Where is this coming from? Because we’ve been fighting a little and I went on a couple of dates? Pete, we live together. You’re…you’re…” Patrick sighed. “I don’t even know what word to use. They probably haven’t even invented one yet that really describes it. It’s just, like…too big. But what I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to worry about anything. I’m right here.”

Pete eyed Patrick measuredly and carefully. “Care to explain the real estate agent thing?” 

Patrick stared down at his lap and nodded. “I…it was Ethan’s idea.”

Pete laughed harshly. “Of course it was! Don’t you see it, Patrick? He’s trying to make you all his and you barely even know him.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but Pete, what am I supposed to do? Keep fighting with you?” He grabbed Pete’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “Should I just pretend whatever this is, this life we’ve built, isn’t one strong wind away from collapsing?”

“It’s not a house of cards, Patrick,” Pete retorted. “We’re stronger than that.”

“I know, but Pete, we’re…it’s not like it used to be. It’s so much harder every day. So, when he said maybe we need some time apart, I thought maybe that would make things easier for both of us.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, staring out at the dark apartment together. Patrick listened to the sound of their breathing and smiled when he realized it was in sync. He tucked his arm around Pete’s shoulders and drew him into his side.

"I'm sorry for being so needy,” Pete said, his voice thick, “I just...I don't want to lose you like this.”

“Hey, easy.” Patrick took Pete’s hands in his own, stared into Pete’s face until amber eyes locked with his. “Listen, you and me—it's...so much more than a single fight or a rough patch. You know that. It would take a lot for you to lose me.” Patrick squeezed his hands around Pete’s, and, to his great relief, Pete squeezed back.

"You're everything to me, you know that, right?" Pete whispered into the darkness. 

"Yeah," Patrick whispered back. "Yeah, I do. Because you're just as important to me."

“You’re not going to leave…right?” The raw fear in Pete’s voice made Patrick think of a lonely child, waiting for their parent to chase away the boogeyman late at night.

Patrick tightened his arm around Pete in answer. “Don’t worry, Pete, I’ve got you. You can let go.”

So Pete did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're all thinking/screaming. We're getting down to the wire. There couldn't _possibly_ be any more angst left in my fingertips, right?
> 
> Remember I love you all and I love these idiots, too ;) but I'm not done fucking with them yet. Steaming hot tea and some questionable decisions coming via Patrick next chapter...


	8. The Fork in the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because that’s what it all came down to lately: Ethan or Pete. Pete or Ethan. No matter who he picked or what he did to try and fix it, Patrick always ended up back at the start, like he was trapped in _Groundhog Day_. 
> 
> _This time is going to be different_ , he promised himself. He was done playing a losing game, backing himself into corners. This time, Patrick would turn the tables. He needed to see who would choose him back. 
> 
> Patrick typed out a message to Pete. _Hey, almost done with work for the day. Should I grab some takeout and we can talk over dinner?_ He pressed the send button. Then, in a moment of reckless courage, he copied the same message and sent it to Ethan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I disappeared for two months again. I’ve been dealing with some really difficult things, and it’s taking me some time to heal. But I wanted to give you one last update before I (hopefully) get busy on my BBB story.
> 
> Once again, my endless gratitude to the one and only [carbonbased000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carbonbased000/pseuds/carbonbased000) for reading this through, in spite of all the icky things that happen in this chapter. You’re a gem ;) <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 
> 
> **Content Warning:** This chapter includes emotional manipulation in regard to an intimate situation and some dubious consent (not between Peterick). If you’re uncomfortable reading this kind of content, I’d recommend stopping after “Cinderella”. You can message me on Tumblr [@realdreams](https://realdreams.tumblr.com) and I’ll gladly summarize for you or answer any questions you have, if you're unsure about reading.

“Trick, I really think you should change this line. It would just make it a little stronger, if you—”

“I know, but then I’d have to—”

“It’ll be fine, I promise,” Pete said, his hand on the small of Patrick’s back feeling like a leaden weight after everything the night before. 

When Patrick had woken up that morning to fresh coffee and a fully dressed Pete waiting for him in the kitchen, he’d thanked his lucky stars. The Pete from Joe’s party was gone without a trace as Pete followed him out the front door, all eagerness and puppy dog eyes. Patrick was so grateful to have his best friend back, he didn’t think twice about leaving Pete in his office while he opened up shop. He’d walked back in to find Pete at his desk, pen in hand, with dusty stacks of Patrick’s college compositions spread out in front of him. 

Now, they sat huddled over a small table in the corner of the music room in Patrick’s shop, piecing together a song from Pete’s scribbled notes in the margins of his favorite discovery. “I really like this song, Trick. Why didn’t you ever play it for me before?”

Patrick fidgeted and mumbled something about Pete being too busy back then as he glanced up at the clock. “We only have seven minutes left before class.”

“I’ve done much more complicated things in less time,” Pete said with a wink, letting his hand finally drop as he stood. He picked up the bass that was propped against the wall. “Come on, let’s practice.”

When Patrick shook his head, Pete strummed the strings of his bass haphazardly, the instrument making a discordant sound that echoed in Patrick’s head. Patrick dropped his pencil and turned to glare at Pete. “I hate you right now,” he said, as menacingly as he could muster.

“No, you don’t.” Pete smirked as he turned away and started playing the opening lines of the song. “Don’t make me start singing, Patrick,” he warned.

Patrick rolled his eyes and grabbed his guitar, catching up just in time to jump into the lyrics. “If you were church, I’d get on my knees.”

“Would you now?” Pete teased.

Patrick stopped playing abruptly and put his hands on his hips. “You wrote it like that just so you could hear me sing those words, didn’t you?”

Pete shrugged. “I just wanted to make you blush. It’s been a while.”

Patrick supposed it had been a while. For the past couple of weeks, there’d been nothing but tension and worry and desperate makeups just for everything to blow up again. It was nice to have him and Pete just… _be them_ for once.

“You’ve always had a knack for that. I swear your degree is in Patrick Studies and not creative writing.”

Patrick’s heart sped up at Pete’s answering grin. “What can I say? I have much more experience in one over the other, but possessing encyclopedic knowledge on Patrick Stump isn’t a marketable skill when said subject is a recluse,” Pete joked. “I had to find some other way to pay the bills, so poetry works well enough.”

 _Works_. The present tense snagged on Patrick’s brain. Pete hadn’t published anything in half a decade. Once news of his incident hit the papers, his book sales had taken a nosedive. Nowadays, his income could hardly be counted on to “pay the bills,” which Pete was normally pretty insecure about.

Patrick glanced at the sheet music, neatly piled on the table next to him. Pete had filled in perfect lyrics to a song in less than an hour. Pete was a pretty talented writer, but surely not even he could dive in where he left off after years without practice. That’s when it hit him—Pete’s notebook. Patrick had written it off as just some scribbled love poems to a crush. But what if it wasn’t? What if the person he was pining after was all for show? His heart leapt with hope as he turned to Pete, who was busy tuning his bass as students started to take their places around the room. “Pete?”

“What’s up?” Pete mumbled, still concentrating on his instrument. 

“Um, I know you haven’t really wanted to talk about it, but—”

Of course, Pete’s phone chose that moment to start ringing. Pete pulled out the phone to check the number and his face immediately sobered as he stared at the screen. 

“Do you need to get that?” Patrick asked warily. Anyone whose call could put a look like that on Pete’s face wasn’t someone Patrick liked.

“No, um…I’m sure it’s fine,” he said, stashing the phone back in his pocket as the ringing finally ceased. “What were you asking again?”

As soon as Patrick opened his mouth, the ringing started again. Patrick sighed in annoyance. “Someone clearly needs to talk to you. You should just answer it.”

Pete hesitated for a moment as he clutched his phone, glancing at Patrick. 

Patrick nodded at him, like a parent giving their child permission to go to a friend’s house. “Go ahead. We can talk later.”

“Thanks, Trick. I’ll try to be quick.” Pete flashed him a forced smile. Then he pushed past some students who were just coming in and hurried out the door. 

“Was that Pete?” one of his students asked. “Is he going to stay today?”

“Um, well, that was the plan, so…yeah, I hope he can.”

A couple of the women in the class exchanged gleeful smiles. Patrick knew just how they felt. He edged toward the hallway to peek out, but there wasn’t a trace of Pete anywhere.

Patrick’s own phone dinged in his pocket. A wave of anxiety crashed over his head when he saw it was a text from Ethan. _Hi, I hope everything with Pete is okay. I’m sorry if I overstepped yesterday and I’d really like to make it up to you. Come over for dinner tonight?_

Patrick stalked back over to his guitar and set his phone on the table without answering. He wouldn’t make the mistake of putting Ethan before Pete again. 

“Patrick.”

He whipped around at the sound of Pete’s voice. Pete stood in the doorway, an apologetic expression on his face.

“You’re leaving,” Patrick guessed.

Pete nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry. I really don't want to go, but it’s pretty urgent. You know I’d never skip out on you unless I had no choice.”

Patrick swallowed hard and nodded. “Is everything okay?”

Pete shuffled his feet and stared down at the floor. “Um, yeah, it’s just complicated is all. And it’s something I have to take care of right now.”

“Well, if you have to go, then you have to go,” Patrick said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant, even as his hopes deflated. He glanced around the room, wondering how he was going to break it to his students that Pete was ditching them, too. “But we need to finish this conversation later, Pete. Okay?” He met Pete’s eyes and fixed him with a firm look. “We need to be more open with each other.”

“Please just trust me, Patrick.” Pete’s whiskey eyes were pleading, filled with secrets begging to be spilled. 

“I’ll do my best.” It was less than a promise, but it was the most Patrick could say with a room full of people watching, smiles falling into frowns as Pete walked away. At least this time, Patrick wasn’t the only one being left behind. 

Patrick turned back to face his students reluctantly. How the hell was he supposed to keep teaching when what he really wanted was to run out the door after Pete? The curse of adulthood: having rare moments of courage to chase after something you want, but the responsibility to stay where you are. “Um…it turns out Pete won’t be able to stick around this morning. He had an emergency.”

The class gave a collective groan, and as Patrick looked around at the pouting faces, he realized he could at least make their days suck a little less. “Hold on a second, everyone. I’m going to see if we can get another guest to join us.” He picked up his phone and texted Mikey’s brother, Gerard. 

Gerard texted back within a couple of minutes that he was on his way. Patrick set his phone back down, the notification for Ethan’s text seeming to watch him as he locked his screen again and walked away. Patrick needed time to think, and there was nothing that gave him clarity like his music. 

***

Two more classes and five hours later, Patrick led Gerard to the door, making small talk about Gerard’s latest artistic venture—comic books. “Well, good luck with the pitch,” Patrick said. “I think it sounds like a really unique concept.”

Gerard smiled. “Thanks, man. Speaking of pitching ideas, did Pete ever get in touch with that agent I told him about?”

“Agent?” Patrick stiffened. “I–um, I don’t know. He doesn’t, uh, talk to me that much about his writing anymore.”

Gerard’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Well, um, maybe he changed his mind or something, then. But tell him I said hi. Okay, gotta run now, bye!” he said quickly, stepping through the shop door and onto the sidewalk.

“Thanks for coming in to help, Gerard,” Patrick said tightly, hoping his head would hold off on its pending explosion long enough for Gerard to be out of sight range.

“Anytime,” Gerard said politely as he strode off down the street.

Patrick stalked back to his office and shut the door so hard that some of the papers Pete left on his desk went flying. Pete must have changed his mind. He wouldn’t publish an entire book without telling Patrick, his best friend, about it…right? But why would he go so far as asking Gerard for help finding an agent, if he hadn’t even told Patrick there was something to get an agent _for_?

Patrick was sick and tired of the secrets and the guessing games and the fighting. He needed answers. He needed the peace of mind that came from being able to trust the people you cared about most. 

When he unlocked the screen to text Pete, he was greeted by Ethan’s dinner invitation from that morning instead. Patrick gave a long sigh. He hadn’t given Ethan an answer yet. And if he were being honest with himself, he knew why. All day, his insecurities had been hosting a goddamn pool party in his brain, applauding as his nightmares did cannonballs into the water. _You’re not good enough,_ they jeered. _Pete doesn't love you the way you love him. If you don't pick Ethan, you’ll be alone._

Because that’s what it all came down to lately: Ethan or Pete. Pete or Ethan. No matter who he picked or what he did to try and fix it, Patrick always ended up back at the start, like he was trapped in _Groundhog Day_. 

_This time is going to be different_ , he promised himself. He was done playing a losing game, backing himself into corners. This time, Patrick would turn the tables. He needed to see who would choose him back. 

Patrick typed out a message to Pete. _Hey, almost done with work for the day. Should I grab some takeout and we can talk over dinner?_ He pressed the send button. Then, in a moment of reckless courage, he copied the same message and sent it to Ethan. 

By the time his phone dinged again, it had been thirty-seven minutes and Patrick was dizzy from speed walking hundreds of anxiety-fueled laps around his tiny office. Patrick reached out for the phone cautiously, not sure what he feared most: the answer or how he’d feel about it.

Patrick took a deep, calming breath and pressed the home button on his phone. The text was from Pete. His heart leapt.

He smiled hopefully as he opened the message, but that smile quickly fell. _Trick, I know you’re probably upset with me, and you’re right to be. I’d love to clear some things up over our favorite pizza or something, but I’m still really tied up tonight. Can we talk tomorrow?_

Before Patrick even had a chance to process Pete’s rejection, another text was coming in. Ethan’s name flashed across the top of his screen, and Patrick opened it. _Please don't worry about bringing dinner. I'll handle everything. I’m just excited to see you again. How’s 7?_

Patrick felt the world tilt. This…wasn’t turning out how he’d expected, but maybe it was how things were supposed to be. He texted Pete something generic about understanding that he was busy (he didn’t understand). The thought of spending his evening fixing things with Ethan instead of with Pete stung like salt in a wound, but that was the deal Patrick had cut with himself: choose the one who chooses you back. The only problem was that tonight, his heart and his fate were on two different paths. 

Patrick sent a message back to Ethan, thanking him for his thoughtfulness and asking for his address. Then he hurried over to check his appearance in the mirror as the next hurdle in his path materialized. Just like with Pete, he and Ethan had their differences, and if they were going to be anything to each other, they had some boundaries to set and an understanding to come to. 

As he went to lock up the room, the light from the hallway fell across the sheet music Pete had pulled out that morning. Patrick walked over to the stacks and ran his fingers over the paper, like it contained a secret he was trying to coax out. 

But the pages didn’t tell him anything. He threw them in his desk drawer and headed out the door to meet Ethan.

***

It took Patrick almost an hour to make it to Ethan’s swanky north side apartment, and by the time he and Ethan sat down to what looked like yet another overly fancy dinner, Patrick’s stomach was grumbling and the exhaustion of the day made his limbs feel heavy. Or maybe that was just the emotional burden on his shoulders. “Thanks for inviting me over, Ethan,” Patrick said as he sat at a table set with candles, champagne-filled crystal glasses, and what looked to actually be edible food this time. “This is a lovely dinner you’ve set out for us.”

“Only the best for me and my guests,” Ethan said with a smile, taking his own seat across from Patrick. “So, before we go any further, I just wanted to apologize again for how things happened yesterday at the party. I was worried about you and I really was trying to help you out. I know now that I overstepped, and I promise I won’t interfere with your friends and family like that again.”

“I appreciate the apology, Ethan. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again, so that was a nice surprise,” Patrick fibbed. He hadn’t really thought about Ethan at all since he ran out of Joe’s party the night before. The past twenty-four hours, Pete had been the only thing on his mind.

“I’m glad,” Ethan said, taking a swig of his champagne. “I take it you were able to find Pete last night? How is he?”

“He was okay last night, eventually. And then today, he came into the shop with me and he was in good spirits. He left pretty abruptly, and I haven’t seen him since then; he said he’s really tied up,” Patrick finished with an awkward shrug.

Ethan frowned, but it looked a little forced. “It’s good to hear that he’s okay now, presumably. I was worried there for a bit.”

“Yes, I’m relieved he’s okay,” Patrick said, smiling as he took his first sip of champagne.

From there, they settled into an easy conversation, and it was almost like that first night they’d met at the bar. He listened to Ethan’s somewhat entertaining story about an eccentric client he’d met that afternoon. In return, Patrick recounted Gerard’s antics with the students today and the song he and Pete had thrown together. 

“Speaking of music…you said you’d studied it in school, right? You went to Columbia or something?”

“Yeah. How did you know that?”

Ethan took another sip of his champagne and sat back, elbow draped purposely over the back of his chair while his crystal glass dangled from his fingertips, like only someone who could afford to replace fine crystal would ever do. “I told a friend of mine about you and he said he’d seen you perform years back,” Ethan said casually. “That you were a composer? Like a music savant?”

Patrick’s throat constricted like anaphylaxis. He managed to disguise his choking as a cough, but even after he’d calmed down, Ethan was still watching him curiously. 

“I take it there’s a story there, then?” Ethan raised an eyebrow.

Patrick shrugged. “I guess you could say that. I…I was supposed to be the next big thing or whatever.”

Ethan’s eyes were alert now, despite the alcohol. They reminded Patrick of the wolf from _Little Red Riding Hood_. “What happened, then? Did you not graduate?”

Patrick took a deep breath, feeling his body vibrate with discomfort. “I, um…I dropped out?”

“But why? Why would you let a chance like that go to waste?”

Patrick’s mind flipped through the endless catalogue of reasons he’d given over the years—competition, pressure, creative burnout. All of them were true to varying degrees. But then there was the Real Reason. The albatross he’d been carrying hidden from everyone, even the one person who deserved to know the truth. Maybe finally telling someone would actually be a relief. “I can tell you, but…it’s complicated.”

Ethan smirked. “Isn’t everything?”

***

“I was a scholarship kid,” Patrick explained. He sat next to Ethan on an opulent leather sofa across from a pretentious electric fireplace, what was left of their dinner forgotten on the table. “My parents were divorced and my dad wasn’t very involved, so it was up to my mom to make ends meet somehow. She didn’t want us to have a disadvantage, so she made it clear we were all going to college or trade school or whatever would set us up for success. When I got into school on my own, she was so relieved. It was such a great opportunity. I got to be close to home, so I could go visit any time I wanted, but I also got to move into a new apartment with my best friend.”

“Pete, I assume?”

“Yeah, we go back a long time, I guess,” Patrick said, fidgeting to avoid making eye contact with Ethan. He wasn’t ready to explain to Ethan how he felt about Pete.

Ethan nodded, still eyeing Patrick curiously. “So where did things go wrong?”

“Pete, um…he got sick.”

“Sick?” Ethan sat up straighter, like he was trying to do the math and click pieces into place. “Is he still sick and that’s why you worry about him so much?”

Patrick shook his head. “It’s not that kind of sickness. It’s the kind most people don’t notice; the kind where you beat yourself up for missing the signs or maybe seeing them and not taking them seriously.”

A hand grasped at Patrick’s, somewhere near his thigh. “I’m sorry you both went through that together,” Ethan told him. Fingers tightened around Patrick’s hand. “I can see how that might throw you off balance for a little bit. But why did you drop out instead of just taking a semester off or something?”

Patrick felt his cheeks heat up in shame. “Pete…he was supposed to be writing, but he lost his book deal. He stayed with his parents for a bit, but I think he just couldn’t take the way they watched him like a ticking time bomb. So he came back home. He was in such a daze half the time, I don’t even think he remembers most of the next few months. But I do. I remember the way he wouldn’t get out of bed or eat. The way he begged me not to tell his parents how bad he was. The bills piling up. I did what I had to do.”

“You gave up your scholarship and your degree?” Ethan asked incredulously.

"Not exactly. When I was over a month behind in coursework, my advisor told me they would cut off my scholarship if I didn’t finish the semester on time. I had some money saved up, and Pete still had a bit of a nest egg from his book, but it wasn’t enough to cover rent and school and someone to watch over Pete. I had to make a choice: finish my degree or keep Pete alive.”

“And you chose him.”

“Yeah, I did. I figured I could always go back to school, but if something happened to Pete…I could never get him back. The decision was pretty easy," Patrick said with a shrug. 

Ethan's eyebrows shot up. "He cost you your education and your entire plan for your future. And you're still best friends with him?"

Patrick felt his eyes narrow. "Pete didn't cost me anything. I made the choice on my own. When you care about someone—really care about someone—you would do anything to make sure they're okay, no matter what. Yeah, I left school because of him, but if I had to do it again, I'd still make the same choice. Keeping my best friend alive is more important than my personal success. Haven't you ever felt that way about someone?" Patrick prompted. "A family member, or a friend, or someone you dated?"

Ethan was silent, the air hanging heavy between them. "Wow," he said eventually. His breath came in gasps of wordless disbelief. "I-I mean I’ve had people I cared about, but not to that level." Ethan turned to look at Patrick, a question in his eyes. "He really means a lot to you, huh?"

That was the understatement of the year, in Patrick's opinion. He tried not to flinch under the weight of Ethan’s judgmental gaze. Surely any decent person would've done what he did for Pete, right?

"Do you think he would do something like that for you?"

"He would," Patrick said without missing a beat. He had no doubt that Pete would do anything Patrick needed him to, even if he was too stubborn to ask. Pete had practically carried him home when he was twice as drunk as Patrick, after they had been fighting.

"Pete's a good friend. He's always taken care of me when I needed him." Patrick felt like he was getting defensive now, and he really had no reason to be.

"I just can't imagine, if he's such a good friend, why he would let you give up all your plans to take care of him," Ethan deadpanned. 

Patrick took a deep breath and looked down at his shoes. "That's the thing..."

"Oh my god, he doesn't know, does he?" Ethan asked, astounded. 

"No, I...didn't tell him why I dropped out."

"How did you manage to support Pete and work enough to pay for your apartment?" Ethan pressed.

"I worked maybe twenty hours a week and checked in with Pete once an hour or so. The rest I paid for with Pete’s savings for a while, and then my, um...my savings."

Ethan set his glass on the coffee table with a loud clink. "You've really gone all in on Pete, haven't you?"

Patrick's cheeks felt enflamed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You don't have feelings for him, do you?"

Patrick's heart pounded. Was he really that obvious? If other people could tell, did that mean… "I do," he choked out. "But Pete doesn't seem to feel the same."

Ethan leaned forward so he was in Patrick's line of sight. His features were etched with concern. "You know this for a fact?"

Patrick took a sip of his drink, which suddenly didn’t contain nearly enough alcohol. "We haven't, like, talked about it, but he's not the shy type. He would've told me by now if he wanted me like that." It felt like a lame answer, but it was all Patrick had to give. He wasn't going to tell Ethan about their history of drunken makeouts, or the heart-stopping kiss they'd shared just moments before Patrick and Ethan had met—things he and Pete had never even discussed themselves. 

“If you’re sure,” Ethan said, giving Patrick an appraising look. Patrick could read between the lines—Ethan didn’t believe him, but he wasn't going to call him out any further.

“I am sure,” Patrick affirmed. And maybe someday that would be true. But right now, he was going in for the kill, to get the answers he came for. Patrick sat up straighter and faced Ethan more directly. “Speaking of relationships, I really want to focus on finding other people I want in my life, too…” he trailed off, his eyes locked with Ethan’s.

Ethan sat up straighter as his eyes flashed with interest. “Oh? What kind of people are you looking for?”

 _A replacement for Pete_ , his heart whispered. Patrick had always known he wouldn’t be Pete’s number one forever. When they were younger, he pushed the thought aside and cuddled up next to Pete anyway, knowing whoever Pete brought home was just a temporary fix, and he was the one who would still be at Pete’s side when it ended. 

But they were getting older now, and the sand in the hourglass of PeteandPatrick was running out before his eyes. It was only a matter of time before the last grain fell through, and Patrick wasn’t even close to ready. Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them away. He wasn’t here for a shoulder to cry on; he was here for answers. But god, he didn’t even know what questions to ask. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice coming out raw and quiet and vulnerable. “I just don’t want to be alone when he finds someone else.” 

Ethan’s hand brushed against Patrick’s where it rested on the couch between them. “Maybe I can help you with that,” he said quietly.

“Even if it means taking a backseat and letting me make the choices I need to make?” Patrick asked.

“Your career and your relationships are yours to handle, I promise,” Ethan conceded. Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Even with Pete,” Ethan added.

“And if we only ever stay friends?”

Ethan bowed his head. “If that’s how things go, then I can accept that. But I’d really like to try for something more again, if you’d let me. It doesn’t have to be anything serious right now, if you’re still working through some things.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Patrick said with a smile that felt more like a grimace. “If we can make some compromises and just get on the same page, maybe there’s some potential for us to be in each other’s lives.”

“Nothing would thrill me more,” Ethan said, his lips twisted into a smile that seemed just a bit wider than usual. His hand rested heavy and warm on Patrick’s thigh now.

Patrick wasn’t stupid. He knew Ethan wanted to make a move on him. And would it be so bad to let him try? It couldn’t be any worse than running home to an empty apartment or the torture of spending the night next to someone who would trade him in for a better model someday soon. And it wasn’t like Patrick had anyone else clambering to take Ethan’s place right now, right? He shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. “So where do we go from here?” Patrick asked, his voice lower and (he hoped) sexier than before.

“I think I know the perfect place to start,” Ethan said, leaning in slowly until their mouths collided. Ethan’s lips were firm against Patrick’s, leading Patrick through the kiss like a waltz. In a way, it was like being with Pete, but far less complicated. When he kissed Pete, it was a pleasure explosion, but there was always that lingering fear of everything he’d lose if he made one wrong move. And all those fears had come to life the night he’d kissed Pete in the bar and Pete had run off like Cinderella after the ball. 

Kissing Ethan was wonderfully simple. It was a meeting of lips and a moment of (admittedly less) pleasure, but with no emotional baggage to be seen. Patrick could let himself be in the moment, feel the sensations as they happened, instead of worrying about what came next. Patrick couldn’t remember the last kiss he’d had that was unencumbered by secrets and lies and he’d forgotten how light and carefree romance could be. When Ethan pulled back, a questioning look on his face, Patrick was paralyzed by the freedom of the blue eyes staring back at him.

His heart pounded hard and fast in his chest, and the little voice in the back of his mind was so anxious, Patrick wasn’t sure what it was shouting at him. But all he saw was the beacon of opportunity Ethan represented, the lovely possibilities that Pete had made so complicated for him. Patrick felt himself being drawn in, like a spaceship hurtling back to earth, once gravity snagged it. 

Their eyes locked. “Keep going,” Patrick panted. 

Ethan smiled like he’d just won a prize. “Gladly.” 

Then Patrick felt himself tilt backwards until his head found a pillow. Ethan’s lips attached to his once more, the kiss deepening, tongues tangling as Ethan’s hands latched on to Patrick’s body, sliding over his waist and his hips with a kind of passion he’d never guessed Ethan could possess. 

When Ethan’s lips trailed down to his neck, Patrick let out a whine. Ethan chuckled. “Been a while?”

Patrick made another whimpering noise as Ethan discovered a spot on Patrick’s neck that he liked. “U-um, something like that,” he whispered, his voice rising in pitch as Ethan left a hickey. “I just…don’t have a lot of experience.”

Ethan pulled back, his eyes searching Patrick’s face, which was probably the reddest it had ever been. “Have you done this before?”

“I, um, I’ve gotten close,” he lied, turning his face to the side, looking anywhere except directly at Ethan, “but I’ve never gone all the way.”

“I don’t want to push you, but we could do that right now, if you wanted. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about being inexperienced anymore. Do you think you’re ready?”

And that was the crux of the matter, the whole reason Patrick had gotten into this situation between Pete and Ethan in the first place. Patrick didn’t want to be the one guy in the city who still hadn’t experienced this level of intimacy at his age. He wanted to feel that closeness, that pleasure everyone raved about, that empires were built and ruined around. He needed an outlet for all the passion he felt for Pete that he could never express to him directly. It had taken Patrick a long time to find this opportunity, and he didn’t want to be the fool who turned it down. Patrick swallowed hard, trying to wash down the doubts bubbling up in his throat. “I think I’m ready to try.” 

“Perfect.” Ethan leaned back in and kissed him with twice as much enthusiasm now. His hands slowly traveled down, down, down Patrick’s body until they reached the button on Patrick’s pants. “Can I?”

Patrick nodded, and then his fly was being undone by Ethan’s deft fingers as Ethan sucked another mark onto his neck. Patrick arched his back and moaned. He thought about how much he’d had to hold back when it was Pete kissing him there. _With Ethan, you can do whatever you want_ , he told himself. So he let out all the noises that rose in his throat instead of swallowing them back, and he touched when he was normally petrified into being still.

Then Ethan was lifting Patrick’s hips and yanking Patrick’s jeans and boxers down off his legs before tossing them on the floor. In seconds, Ethan’s pants joined Patrick’s and his shirt was undone as well. He felt Ethan’s hardness pressing against him, skin to skin. Ethan ground his hips into Patrick’s, making Patrick scream. 

Patrick didn’t have much time to think before Ethan was turning him over onto his hands and knees and crawling up behind him. He glanced at the clock and saw that only five minutes had passed since they started kissing. Were they moving a little fast, or was this how things normally went? Patrick was lost in a web of confusion as a dry finger prodded his entrance. He jolted in surprise. “Ethan, can we slow down a second?” Patrick gasped out.

“Why, what’s wrong?” Ethan asked, an edge of irritation in his voice.

“Um, I just…I thought this would progress a little slower is all. Can we maybe just make out a bit longer first?”

“Oh, well, you said you were ready, so I thought you meant right then. Sorry,” Ethan replied brusquely. He turned Patrick back over, laying him back down and hovering over him. 

“What do you want? More touching? Did you want to blow me first or something?”

“Um…kissing? Kissing would be nice.” Wasn’t kissing pretty standard? Or did everyone throw that out the window once sex was on the table? He tried to remember his many makeouts with Pete, but the alcohol was making his memories fuzzy. He remembered Pete’s hands all over him, the x-rated whispers in his ear, the lips that never left his skin. Was that just what things were like with Pete? Was Pete like that with everyone he’d taken to his bed? Patrick wished desperately that he had some other experience besides what he’d done with Pete to compare this to. 

Ethan gave him a weird look he couldn’t place. “Fine, more kissing, then.”

And as Ethan leaned in, goosebumps broke out over Patrick's skin. Ethan’s tone had changed so much over the past several minutes that Patrick wasn’t sure what was real. Ethan’s lips were more selfish this time, rushing through, like he was just trying to get to the finish line and wasn’t waiting for Patrick to catch up. Ethan’s hand drifted downward again, and Patrick felt his hips being positioned. “Are you ready now?” Ethan panted, reaching down to stroke himself. 

Wait, shouldn’t Ethan be touching him, too? Patrick felt like his cock was about to burst and Ethan had acted like it didn’t even factor into the equation. 

“Um…aren’t you going to touch me?”

Ethan shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter until you’re ready to come. Besides, you’d finish in five seconds anyway.” 

“Okay…” Something in Patrick’s gut, coiled up, like a snake ready to strike. “Do you have lube, then? Or a condom?”

Ethan stared at him. "We can just use spit, if things get too uncomfortable. And I mean, I'm clean. Obviously, you're clean, so we don't really need a condom. It feels _so_ much better without one, anyway. You’ll like it, trust me."

Patrick waited a beat in complete stillness. Ethan was joking, right? But when Ethan didn’t laugh, reality sank in. Patrick shook his head vigorously and started pushing against the firm chest and arms that were blocking his way. "I'm sorry—I can't." 

Ethan knelt back in shock. “You’re saying no? Seriously?”

Patrick pulled his legs up and swung them off the couch, frantically grabbing for his boxers and jeans. He needed to get out of this apartment right fucking now. “No, just—I...no. I can't..” 

“Wow, I went through all this trouble to feed you fancy food and I sat through that horrible trashy party with your loser friends and then I offer you probably the best fuck you’ll ever get and you have the nerve to say no?” Ethan’s voice rose with every word.

Patrick stopped, one leg in his jeans, and looked at Ethan. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why would I want to be with someone who thinks so poorly of me?”

“Because you’re desperate,” Ethan chuckled, arms crossed as he watched Patrick finish pulling on his pants. “Your friend you want to fuck so badly doesn’t want you back, and you’ve wasted your whole life waiting for him. I mean, can you get any more pathetic than that? I was doing you a favor by giving you another option.”

Patrick shoved past Ethan, his temper blazing. “You weren’t doing me a favor, Ethan. You were screwing my life up so you could get me to sleep with you, because someone who knew better would never go for a scumbag like you. Thanks for the dinner; I hope your money keeps you warm at night, because if this is who you really are, it’s all you’ll ever have.”

And then Patrick stalked out, slamming the door after him, closing that chapter of his life. Hot tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision as he ran from the building and back to the home he never should’ve left.

***

Patrick’s hands shook. He dropped the key twice before he managed to get a good grip on it. When he finally wedged it into the lock, he burst through the door of his and Pete’s apartment with a sob. But he choked it off when he saw he wasn’t alone. 

Pete bolted upright from where he sat on the couch, his phone pressed to his ear. That fucking phone with all its fucking secrets. Patrick wanted to scream into the receiver and throw it out the window, the device and the person who was trying to take his Pete from him vanquished once and for all.

But before Patrick could exact his revenge, Pete was murmuring a brusque farewell into the phone before dropping it on the couch and bounding over to take a trembling Patrick in his arms.

“Shhhhh, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” Pete rubbed his hands over Patrick’s back and shoulders soothingly and Patrick finally felt safe and cared for, which just intensified the feeling of wrongness after being with Ethan. Like he'd been trapped in the dark for so long he'd forgotten the brightness of the sun and it was such a relief to feel its warmth again, but so frighteningly overwhelming with its intensity. Patrick just cried and shook harder.

"Patrick, you’re scaring me. Tell me what's wrong?" Pete murmured into his ear, carding his fingers through Patrick's hair. Pete pulled back a bit and Patrick watched in shame as Pete's worried eyes inspected his face—first for signs of harm, then for clues about what had happened. And Patrick knew, he just _knew_ that Pete would see. He figured it was easier than trying to find the words to say, so he let Pete look. Pete went still, his voice cold and dangerous. "Was it that asshole?"

Patrick sniffled and buried his face into Pete's shoulder. But Pete's embrace was suddenly gone, like the slamming of a door. 

"I'm going to fucking kill him." Pete was moving before Patrick could stop him, toeing his shoes on. "I'm gonna castrate him and then I'm going to make him choke on his fucking designer watch and I'm going to beat the living shit out of him with his fancy shoes and then I'm going to tie him to the bed and light his fucking apartment on fire, like Eminem."

"Pete, wait!" Patrick cried, his heart pumping double time from the shot of adrenaline at the thought of Pete going after Ethan. 

"Don't go. Please? I need you. You can go Dexter him later and throw him in a dumpster. I don't care. I just...I need you right now," he pleaded, his voice raw with emotion. The cards in his hand were slowly bending toward Pete and he knew all it would take was the right words from Pete for him to cave completely. But Pete wasn’t looking to see what Patrick was hiding. He was looking at Patrick.

Judging by the anguish in Pete’s eyes, he was reading Patrick pretty well. He stopped in his tracks, then came back toward Patrick. Pale fingers entwined with darker ones, squeezing lightly. Lips touched Patrick’s temple so gently he started crying again. How could he have ever mistaken what Ethan was offering as better than what he had with Pete? Patrick couldn’t find the words, so he just buried his face in the soft comfort of Pete’s hoodie, smearing it with his tears, and mumbled his gratitude.

Pete wrapped his arms around Patrick, pulling him close until their bodies touched. “As long as you need me, I’m here. Always.”

***

Jacuzzi bubbles lapped at Patrick’s pale skin, coaxing the anxiety from his body. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tub, the lavender aroma curling up into his nose as he took a deep breath. He really should’ve fought Pete harder for the master bedroom all those years ago. He could’ve been spending his nights like this all along. 

But then Patrick remembered why he was in Pete’s tub in the first place, and his momentary peace vanished. Tiny invisible ants crawled over his skin everywhere Ethan’s hands had touched. Patrick shivered and changed positions. Ironically, Patrick was now grateful that Ethan had left so much to be desired as a bed partner, because it meant he only felt the ghost of Ethan’s touch in a couple of places, rather than everywhere.

There was a hesitant knock at the door. “Trick? You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” he called back. He wasn’t sure, really, but it sounded better than the “I don’t know” he actually felt.

“Can I come in? I brought you some tea.”

Patrick had told Pete as little as possible about his evening with Ethan. Judging by how Pete was watching him like a baby wobbling toward a staircase as he entered the room, the less said, the better.

Pete sat on the edge of the tub and carefully passed the cup to Patrick’s outstretched hand. He watched Patrick drink in silence, the anxious desperation in his eyes already saying enough. 

Patrick was grateful for the barrier of the cup. It made it harder for Pete to read his expressions and overanalyze. He tilted his head back and took a long, satisfying sip. “If you’re going to say something, you should just say it, Pete.”

Pete stared down at his hands for a moment, then flicked his gaze back up at Patrick. “I just…I guess I have a lot to say, but I think it’s more important right now for me to listen. I want to make sure you’re okay, Patrick. That’s the only thing that really matters, really.”

“I know, Pete. I…don’t know what you want me to tell you.” Patrick squirmed uncomfortably. He set the cup down next to him, on the ledge of the tub surround, watching it. One wrong move, one swift jolt, and it would shatter.

“If he hurt you in any way, you can tell me….You know that, right?” Pete pleaded, a note of fear creeping into his voice. “I promise I’d just call the police and I’d help them handle all of it. You wouldn’t have to worry.”

Patrick concentrated on the frothy surface of the water, running his fingers over the bubbles delicately so they wouldn’t burst, just like Pete was doing with him tonight. “He didn’t hurt me, Pete.” The words that sounded so firm in his head came out weak and small. He really shouldn’t blame Pete for still being concerned, because Patrick would be, if the roles were reversed. “At least not physically,” he amended.

“That’s still not okay, Trick,” Pete said gently, leaning down so he and Patrick were more at eye level. “And I’ll be honest and say that’s the part I want to Dexter him for the most. That he hurt you in ways that aren’t going to heal in a couple of weeks.”

Patrick drew his knees up in the jacuzzi and wrapped his arms around them, pulling them close to his chest. “There’s nothing either of us can do about what he did. I did the best I could in getting out of there before things went too far, or else this would be an even worse night.” 

A silence settled in the air as they each considered what that night might have looked like. “I don’t know what to do to help you,” Pete confessed. He gripped the edge of the tub so tightly, his fingers turned white. “I try so hard to protect you, Patrick, but this is one thing I really can't fix. All I can do is hug you and feed you, and offer you my jacuzzi, and it just doesn’t feel like enough. What can I do? What do you need?”

It was funny how, in that moment, watching Pete sit on the edge of the tub reminded Patrick so much of another scene. A hospital bed, doctors filtering in and out of the room, whispering in the hallways, while Patrick sat by Pete’s bedside, talking over them so Pete wouldn’t hear. _Guess the tables have turned_ , he thought. Patrick lifted his hand from the water and settled it on Pete’s knee, dripping and soapy, but hopefully warm, at the least. “Pete,” he said softly, “there are kings and queens who’ve felt less attended to than I feel with you here next to me.”

“Yeah, but if I had just…come home and had dinner with you—”

“No. It wasn’t—” Patrick shook his head as his mind flooded with all the wrong words and none of the right ones. _Where did you go today? What was so important that you had to leave? Why won’t you tell me?_ This wasn’t the time or the place, and neither of them was in the right state of mind to have a serious discussion. “Water under the bridge, okay? I just want to focus on how glad I am that that fucker is gone from my life now.” _I just want you_.

“He’ll never see you or speak to you or touch you again,” Pete growled, his eyes narrowed.

For a few seconds, Patrick felt the ghost of Ethan’s hands on his hips, moving lower. Patrick shuddered, the water splashing around him as his memories burst and faded back into reality. “No, never again,” Patrick affirmed, looking up at Pete.

Tense amber eyes met Patrick’s and immediately softened, their warmth comforting and grounding, like the glow of a firefly on a summer night. Pete was safe. Pete was home. Patrick didn’t need Pete’s entire heart to himself, because he already had most of it, and something in his own heart told him that just one look like this from Pete could sustain him the rest of his life. 

“Patrick, be honest with me,” Pete said gently, reaching out to brush a few pieces of hair back from Patrick’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I…think I will be. I just need to sleep on it and…move past tonight.”

Pete nodded his understanding. “Is this okay?” Pete asked, gesturing to where his knuckles were just barely touching the side of Patrick’s face, so clearly yearning to caress, but yielding their own desire to Patrick’s comfort.

If there was one person on earth Patrick knew wouldn’t hurt him (besides his mom), it was Pete. He closed his eyes and leaned into the comfort of Pete’s familiar hands. “You touching me is never going to make me uncomfortable, Pete.”

A thumb passed gently over Patrick’s cheekbone. The reply was so soft, Patrick barely heard it. “Good.”

***

After wrapping Patrick up in the softest t-shirt he owned and some pajama pants, Pete sat down on his bed, swung his legs under the covers, and settled in. He glanced over at Patrick, who was frozen still beside the bed. “Is something wrong? Would you rather be in your room?” He sat back up, pulling the covers aside, as if to get up again.

“No. It’s um—it’s not that. I’m just…thinking too much.” _I wish it had been you tonight, instead of him._ When Pete laid back down, Patrick crawled in from the other side, settling close enough to touch if either of them made an effort, but just far enough that it didn’t look like he was trying to attach himself to Pete. Not that he thought Pete would mind if he did. “Is this okay?” Patrick asked timidly.

“You know I’m probably not going to sleep tonight,” Pete mused. “Whatever’s comfortable for you is fine for me, Patrick.”

It was true that Pete’s insomnia was a bit of a problem, but it was also kind of endearing to think of Pete watching over him all night, like a guardian angel. Patrick curled up in a ball, laying his head on Pete’s pillow. As Pete turned to look at him directly, Patrick almost gasped. In the dim light from the hallway, every little fleck that made up Pete’s mesmerizing whiskey eyes was illuminated. _You’re so beautiful_ , Patrick thought. He bit his lip to stop his sleepy thoughts from becoming sleepy words.

A warm hand curled around Patrick’s back, pulling him in until they couldn’t get any closer. Patrick’s drawn-up knees were probably pressing on some very unpleasant areas of Pete’s body, but Pete didn’t seem to notice or care. His expression was a mixture of troubled and tender as he gauged Patrick’s reaction. “Are you comfortable? Can you sleep like this?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, in an embarrassingly breathless whisper. “Thanks for taking care of me tonight, Petey,” he added sleepily. 

“It’s nothing, really,” Pete said. And then, feather-soft, “I love you.”

Patrick stopped breathing. He couldn’t _possibly_ mean… “It’s not nothing,” Patrick whispered. Should he say it? It would be weirder not to say it, right? “And I love you, too.”

Pete’s lips, so close and yet so far, twitched, as if to say something. His eyes searched Patrick’s intensely, and Patrick prayed to every god he could think of for Pete to find what he was looking for. _Please, please_ , Patrick pleaded. _Let me know I’m not the only one. I can’t be._ But after a few heart-stopping seconds, it was clear Pete wasn’t giving up any secrets tonight. 

A tender hand cupped Patrick’s face for a moment, then moved slowly down over his neck, his shoulder, and dipped below the covers. It found a home on the little patch of skin between Patrick’s pajama pants and where his shirt had ridden up, and stroked Patrick’s waist slowly, gently. “Go ahead and sleep now, okay? If you wake up, I’ll be right here.”

“Okay, g’night, Petey,” he mumbled, eyelids heavy. Cocooned in a sea of lush blankets and the safety of Pete’s arms wrapped around him, Patrick drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats on making it to the end of Ethtrick!!!
> 
> Next chapter is the one you know you've all been waiting for ;)
> 
> But don’t think I’m letting these two off that easily. I’ve got one more monkey wrench in this bag and I’m using it…


End file.
